


the last vault hunter

by delurks



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe, Betrayal, Body Horror, Borderlandscast, Depression, Dissociation, Electrocution, F/F, Frostbite, Gen, Gore, Guns, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Gore, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 382,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delurks/pseuds/delurks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- // PLAYING ECHO // -<br/>I've decided to start keeping a journal, or record, if you will deem it that way, after five years of not writing my journey across Pandora down, now that I actually have several reasons to start doing so. The first reason is for accurate historical purposes. Pandora doesn't have much of a basis in the ways of preserving history and because of that, there's not a lot to be found on Eridian artifacts, ruins or technologies unless you find an expert. </p><p>The chances of finding an expert who isn't already dead, sworn to secrecy or under nigh unbreakable protection on Pandora are very low. Because of that, in the event of my death or other unfortunate circumstances, like this journal being pried from my inventory one way or another, this journal should hopefully clue in anybody who reads this on what to do during dire times, such as when a vault is close to being opened or if the equilibrium of Pandora is at stake.</p><p>The second and final reason for this journal is that I have a story to tell. And you will listen and pass it on because this is a tale that should not (and will not) be forgotten that easily.</p><p>Hello, I am Rythian and welcome to Pandora.<br/>- // END OF ECHO RECORDING // -</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For the Crater Good

Rythian fires off the remaining bullets in his pistol, missing entirely as enemy fire skims past him, the damp mud swallowing both volleys of bullets without leaving so much as a hint of them behind. He slides behind a rock, dropping into a crouch and reloads, willing his hands to stay steady until the pistol's mechanisms click into place.

Frantic footsteps squelch towards him and he counts down from five. When the countdown reaches zero in his head, Rythian leans out from his cover, takes aim and pulls the triggers several times, one of the bullets hitting his last pursuer in the head. The impact of their body into the mud sends up a small shower of grime, leaving a tense silence in its wake. 

Rythian counts off three, no, make that four, bodies of cannibals littered around the clearing, his latest handiwork marring the bodies with circular holes, each spread out along the bodies with rivulets of blood silently oozing from them. The mud absorbs the blood without a single complaint, the dark brown pool steadily growing under each body with every second ticking by. Rythian offers it a silent dry ‘thanks’ for the hard work that saves him the trouble of cleaning up. 

He checks his remaining ammo and heaves a sigh of relief, pleased that he hasn’t fired all that many bullets in dealing with an ambush, pulling his purple scarf over the bottom half of his face as he squelches through the mud towards the nearest corpse. He starts rolling up the sleeves of his coat for the most unpleasant task of his evening: patting down the bodies for anything of value. 

Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have considered doing such a thing, believing that only lowly thugs and petty scavengers would bring themselves to do so. These days, it's a necessity. He tries not to think of it as stooping so low, but rather as ‘redistributing assets’. With a grunt, he flips over a body, taking care to avoid gazing into the glassy eyes of the corpse before him, searching the pouches and belt for anything he can tuck into his inventory. 

He finds nothing of value save for the gun sticking out of the mud, which he wrenches out and examines. It’s a Torgue shotgun, heavily scratched all over with a bone tied to the barrel with a bit of wire. Not very valuable, considering the owner. He takes it anyway, not before dislodging the bone by cutting the wire, letting the bone fall to the ground and stashing the gun in his digistruct storage. 

After checking the rest of the corpses and metaphorically washing his hands of the matter, he leaves the rakks and skags to pick the bodies clean, darting into the shadows as the moon drifts lazily into view overhead. He finds an inkling of comfort in the dark where the light doesn't peter through the canopy, eyes casting a faded blue glow on his surroundings as he switches on the night vision, so sure of his footing in the swamp as he searches for a place to camp for the night, falling into the familiarity of an old routine.

After ten minutes of wandering around and poking into various crevices that he’s sure the wildlife have claimed as their own, he find himself in a relatively covered overhang, the only signs of life an old generator that’s abandoned and rusting beyond belief with old scaylion eggs remains flaking at the edges and translucent under the moon. 

It would have been almost poetic if he didn’t remember that the scaylions are almost as bad as the skags, except that they had stingers and a set of two claws to compensate for their lack of teeth. He's never been up close and personal to check, not interested in the slightest to verify.

Just to be sure, he gives the place a once-over before settling down for the night, far too alert to fall asleep and far too paranoid to keep all but one hand on his pistol at all times. 

Rythian curses under his breath as he wastes two matches in a row, the sparks fluttering into life before flaring out on the damp wood and just by his sheer luck of being in a swamp. He coaxes the spark to catch, not quite willing to spend the night freezing to death, allowing a triumphant smile when the spark catches on the dry wood. 

He soon has a fire going, thinking that it took more effort than it should have. He finds a dry patch on the ground and sits down, looking up to get his bearings and decide what to do next, pulling down his mask to let the heat wash over his face and neck. The warmth is soothing, one of the few comforts he can turn to in the wild. The adrenaline is still winding down, choking any desire for food.

He blames what happens next on simply being unlucky in choosing where to set up camp, but when he looks up to the sky again, there’s a star there that’s growing larger and brighter by the second. He likes to think he knows his Pandoran constellations off by heart, attempting to place it before coming up with nothing for his efforts. 

It hadn't been there ten seconds ago. 

Rythian blinks slowly, unsure if it’s just the sky playing tricks on him, his eyes glitching or one of nature’s illusions. The adrenaline spikes in his mind, causing other possibilities to race through his mind. He’s definitely not hallucinating (he hasn’t even been anywhere near bandit breweries or been hit by anything that might cause a reaction, for crying out loud). 

Getting to his feet as the star reaches maximum brightness, Rythian tweaks his vision to focus in on it, attempting to think of it as some sort of falling star? A meteor? Wait, is it hurtling towards him at unprecedented speed? 

Rythian turns on his heel and dives into the small cave for cover when roughly thirty seconds later, the spot where he’d been standing explodes in a shower of dirt, screeching metal and scorching heat, sending shrapnel and sparks flying through the air and a giant dust cloud to rise from the clearing. 

With his heart thudding in his ears and the trinket around his neck settling into place once more, Rythian waits until the dust settles, breathing hard. He's just the tiniest bit paranoid of what might be waiting out there, his gun already in hand. He's far enough in the cave though not so far as to avoid seeing the flickering light. 

He sidles closer to the entrance, dropping into a crouch near the cave’s entrance, musing whether or not the stars are also out to get him if the rest of the planet isn’t already doing so. After hearing silence and just the sounds of metal hissing from coming into contact with swamp water and mud, he risks a peek, eyes adjusting to the sporadic patches of darkness not lit up with smoking, fiery debris.

A cursory glance reveals no signs of visible life, a welcome relief to his fears. Rythian steps out, picking his way through the wreckage towards the center of the crater. He takes extra care not to let his coat snag on anything, pulling up his mask again to avoid breathing in the worse of the acrid fumes. 

Whatever’s hit the clearing is not much bigger than two bandit trucks parked side by side, a giant metallic misshapen, once cube-shaped mass in the crater with the colors completely scraped off from the heat of entering Pandora’s atmosphere and the impact. 

Rythian hazards a guess that it’s some sort of satellite that just got knocked out of orbit. He creeps closer to it, wondering if he can scavenge the panels or electronics if they haven’t been burnt to a crisp by now. 

The sound of buzzing insects and distant rakk calls are drowned out by the sound of miniature fires all around him, columns of smoke spiralling high into the sky, a beacon for others to come and investigate. Rythian knows from his earlier experiences that anything in the area includes curious cannibals and bandits. 

He hears the muffled banging and clanging in the satellite remains before he registers it, the gun in his hand swinging up to aim at the source of the noise. He’s so close to the object that he can almost touch it, the metal still heated up to the point that he can still feel the heat from where he's standing. 

Upon closer scrutiny, one of the satellite's sides has a door in it, probably for maintenance access. The circular turning mechanism is almost bent beyond recognition but it’s still attached. 

Rythian gathers up a good handful of dirt-stained cloth from his coat, wrapping his palm up in several thick layers before reaching out. 

The door bangs open, causing more smoke to gush out followed by a wave of heat and dust. Rythian scrambles backwards in alarm, almost tripping over a chunk of metal and rock. His gun sights are set on the human shape bent double in the open doorway, coughing up their lungs and dry heaving after every hacking cough. 

The figure staggers forward away from the bent door, feet dragging in the dirt until they’re several meters away from the door which is still releasing smoke columns that trail high into the sky.

They wipe at the edge of their mouth with a hand that glints in the light (with Rythian belatedly remembers in the back of his mind that some people have functional prosthetics, an all too common sight on Pandora). It clicks in his mind that it wasn’t a satellite that fell from the stars, it’s an escape pod. 

He feels idiotic for a second before he notices that the figure’s gone very still, has stood up straight and is staring in his direction despite the blood pouring down one side of their head. Their eyes have widened at the sight of Rythian standing there. 

They both draw their guns in the span of a heartbeat. Rythian gets there first, drawing the hammer of his pistol back with his thumb and aiming for their blond head of hair without a second thought. The figure holds their gun steady and at the sight, Rythian raises an amused eyebrow at their upside down gun. Their eyes meet before Rythian just points at their gun with his free hand to let them know. 

His honorable gesture isn’t lost on the other person, who fumbles to right their mistake and aims their pistol (the correct way up this time) at Rythian’s chest, putting on a brave face as if they hadn’t been holding it the wrong way up the entire time. Rythian would have started chuckling at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation if it hadn’t been a stand-off, feeling a belated twinge of annoyance at his campfire having been annihilated with the impact, especially after all his efforts to get a fire going.

He breaks the tense silence first, finally remembering how to speak human words after several weeks of solitude and a sore lack of company that aren't trigger-happy, bloodthirsty, murderous, semi-sentient beings. His voice cracks a few times in some places, but he thinks he manages to sound fairly calm (with a flicker of pride) as the figure standing opposite of him struggles to stay upright, forehead blood slicking one of their goggles lenses a bright red in the glow of the fires around them.

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to point a gun at me. You might shoot yourself by accident,” Rythian starts, all too ready to negotiate if it’ll get them to put down the gun so they don't pass out or start shooting at him. 

Considering the distance separating them, he's sure that they can easily get in a few shots. It's a chilling realization that doesn't comfort him in the slightest. Rythian's not sure if he has enough painkillers stocked in his inventory to go through another series of feverish, bloody and painful days of tedious bullet removal if he can't dive out of the way. 

Regretting for what is likely the hundredth time in his life, he really needs to stop being so picky in regards to finding and wearing a proper shield, though if he's gone this long without one, he's confident he can avoid taking bullets until then.

“Get away from me, bandit!” The figure spits out as soon as Rythian stops speaking. Their voice rings out in the clearing, causing Rythian to wince from the sheer volume, almost impressed at the energy behind it. “Besides, it’s kind of ironic for a bandit to point that out while they’re pointing a gun at me,” The figure adds, in a much more softer, conversational tone. 

“I’m not a bandit,” Rythian points out. He refrains from pointing out that bandits would have already shot them dead and looted the escape pod for anything even vaguely of value to sell off, fight over or trade to other bandits. Never mind that he'd been planning to do just that since he hadn't been aware of anybody still being alive in the pod to begin with, glad he didn't try to break into the pod earlier. 

“There’s only bandits on Pandora because you guys kill everything else!” The gun in their hand is lifted higher. Rythian is sure that the gun is now set to blow his brains out if the figure grows any more agitated. In response, Rythian keeps his gun level on their head, not taking any chances. He settles for planting both feet firmly on the ground, ready to dive out of the way if he has to and open fire in retaliation, though he'd rather not let it come to that. 

“I am not a bandit,” He repeats much more slowly, his tone and volume matching that of the figure’s. Their gun lowers just a fraction, the tiniest of victories for Rythian.

“Yes, you are, you look just like one,” The figure says, though their eyes squint under their goggles in the semi-darkness at Rythian’s form, an edge of doubt in their voice. 

“If we’re going to play this game, you look like you wouldn’t survive a day on Pandora in that condition,” Rythian notes with a touch of sarcasm, drawing on from his limited reserves of patience to try to ride this out without casualties, him included.

The figure stares at him, shock creeping into their eyes and voice as they lower the gun to their side. It vanishes into thin air with a flicker of light, leaving them empty-handed as the gravity of their situation dawns on them. 

“Oh, shit,” They breathe, “I really am on Pandora, aren’t I?” 

Rythian chooses to remain silent, though he releases the hammer of his pistol, fingers tingling from having held the gun so tightly. He keeps his gaze on the figure, puzzled by their distress. 

The figure runs both hands through their hair, muttering curses under their breath, looking all the more panicked, ignorant of more blood matting their hair more from the action. They whirl around to face him, causing him to start, though he suppresses the reflex to point his gun at them again just in time.

“Hey, which way to the nearest spaceport?” Their head jerks up to eye Rythian with the faint glimmers of hope instead of suspicion and hostility. 

Rythian could have pointed him in the complete wrong direction. Rythian could have simply left them at the mercy of Pandora’s other life. Rythian could have done anything but help because it would have saved him so much more trouble down the line. But he has no way of knowing that. What he does instead sets him and them on a different but same road. 

“That way,” Rythian jerks his thumb over his shoulder towards the exit of the clearing they’re standing in, having little idea of the fate in store for him in doing so. “On the other side of the planet."

“How far is it?" 

“On foot? I’d say several months,” He says, sounding thoughtful. “Probably longer, taking into account geography and everything else in between you and the spaceport from where we’re standing. It’ll be faster if you catch a ride or a train…where are you going?” 

When he sees the figure picking their way to the exit through the debris littered hole, Rythian comes to the conclusion that they’re either a fool or simply far too deluded with hope to risk walking across Pandora.

“You said this way, right?” The figure toes a piece of scrap metal out of their path with a steel-capped boot, gesturing with their metal hand towards the direction he’d pointed in. 

“Surely you’re not going all the way there on foot and while bleeding out?” Rythian can’t help but sound incredulous at their decision, unsure how to feel about the turn in events. 

He's actually more used to people shooting him on sight, this proving the first time that somebody has asked for directions rather than trying to get the jump on him. That says a lot of about the type of place Pandora is and his normal expectations when interacting with other people. Rythian gets a shrug for his concern. 

“Better get started then,” The figure is soon swallowed up by the darkness, though Rythian can hear their squelching footsteps going off into the distance as they start their foolhardy trek through the swamp mud and stagnant water.

Rythian starts wrestling with his conscience. He’ll be fine. He won’t be fine. He’ll be fine. No, he won’t be fine. And so on, with the angel and devil squabbling on his shoulders as the perfect metaphor for what he's going through. 

He comes to the conclusion that in the time he spends debating the finer morals of helping out complete strangers after a stand-off (which they’ve both miraculously walked away from without firing a single bullet, an almost unheard of event on Pandora), the stranger will have either gotten into trouble or become lost in the swamp as he’s fairly sure they know nothing about what’s in store for them. Or something just as bad, if not, worse. Rythian races after them, following the retreating sound of their footsteps and the trail they left behind.

He catches up to them after thirty minutes of wandering around and almost taking a wrong turn into scaylion territory, thanking his his luck that they haven’t gotten completely lost or met something hungry for a midnight snack. In his rush, he's forgotten how easy it is to be jumpy, appearing out of the bushes and finding the sights of an SMG trained on him. 

Rythian holds up both hands in a gesture of surrender, the figure’s expression shifting from one of wariness to almost comical relief upon realizing it's him. 

“You didn’t get very far,” Rythian idly remarks, taking care to not look at all worried, leaning against a tree to discreetly catch his breath. 

\--

After he leaves what’s left of the not-bandit’s camp and put what he thinks is a decent distance between him and the not-bandit, Lalna uses some medical gel and a bandage to patch himself up, wiping off the forehead blood with the back of his normal hand. He's looking slightly better than he did fifteen minutes ago, which he sees as good news. The bad news is that he did so at the expense of his only bare bones first-aid kit. Well, he wasn’t prepared for this at all, with this being crash-landing on Pandora. 

First things first, he’ll have to get to the spaceport, one way or another, even if he has to drag his bloody, bruised body all the way there to let his employer know that he’ll be a little bit late in completing his commission. 

Make that way overdue. 

Lalna starts walking in the direction that he thinks the not-a-bandit figure had pointed in. He doesn’t have anybody else he can trust or consult for directions and considering the figure hadn’t shot him on sight, he’s somewhat inclined to trust their directions (for now). Nonetheless, he tries the only other option he can think of at the moment. 

He consults his ECHO, bringing up his HUD only to receive a ‘CONNECTION ERROR’ in bright white letters across the screen. Lalna groans. Having just relied on his employer’s connection hadn’t given him the necessary credentials to log in to Pandora’s planet wide network and he’s nowhere near civilisation to ask how to do so now. He mentally kicks himself for passing up the opportunity in the past. 

He supposes he’ll just have to keep walking and if he really wants to be optimistic about this, it’ll be something like an adventure, right? His mechanical hand scratches away at an insect bite, leaving a raised, angry-looking welt on his flesh arm. 

So far, that’s one con of this trek. Insect bites and being stuck in the middle of a swamp in the middle of nowhere. 

He curses the insect for taking what’s left of his blood, sweat beginning to soak his shirt in the small of his back and all over his arms when he hears something crashing about in the wilderness behind him. Lalna grabs the first thing in his inventory that isn’t a pistol, drawing the SMG up toward the source of the sound while praying fervently that it isn’t actual bandits, finger poised on the trigger, heart going at a million miles per hour in his chest. 

Lalna checks that his gun is pointing the right way, the embarrassment from before welling up at the memory giving way to shaky terror that ends up being wariness. Lalna musters up the resolve to deal with whatever it is since he has nothing to lose. Whatever it is in the bushes pauses before stepping out to meet him, signaling surrender with both empty hands raised. 

What he fortunately gets instead is one very amused familiar face who’s just rubbing in his lack of Pandora experience now. Lalna ignores that jab and lowers the SMG, giving not-a-bandit a sour look. 

“Are you following me?” He asks, deciding to be blunt with them, his wanderings having whittled his patience down to a nub that's beginning to be reduced to shreds.

To their credit, the figure stops looking so amused, putting on a sheepish look instead. “No,” They pause, seemingly caught out. “I just happen to be going in the same direction as you are,” They finish speaking just a touch too fast to be anything but lying.

“You are a terrible liar,” Lalna notes, the SMG going back into storage. “And I think you’re really following me."

“I’m not lying, there’s a Catch-A-Ride machine over there.” They point over Lalna’s shoulder. Lalna almost makes his missing a pint or so of blood worse with dizziness by turning around on the spot far too fast, his vision going spotty though that doesn't stop him from spotting hope on the horizon.

He can’t see anything but a rusted piece of rectangular metal sticking out of the ground with just a few buttons attached that are covered in moss, encrusted in dirt and who knows what else. Said piece of metal is sticking out of the ground on a shoddy makeshift rotten wooden raft held together with several fraying pieces of mouldy rope. 

Lalna tries not to look too excited but ends up sprinting over to the machine at a pace that betrays his excitement. All too eager to finally get something to drive and not have to walk, Lalna ignores the constant flickering outline of the selection screen, cycling through the selections until he finds a bandit truck, large, imposing and perfect for tearing through Pandora's wilderness. He chooses it and waits with bated breath for the digistruct mechanism to jump-start itself into gear.

The machine locks up, kicking him all the way back to the selection menu, declaring him an ‘unauthorized user’ in the most obnoxious teenage voice that's complete with the most backwater Southern accent he’s ever heard in his entire life. 

Lalna’s never wanted to punch a piece of machinery so badly, quickly growing miserable at the lack of options save for walking or giving up. Not-a-bandit leans over his shoulder, scrolling through the menu and picking a vehicle before drawing back, the machine bursting into life. The outline of a truck materialises, frame and parts coming together before the machine falls silent. The vehicle drops with a heavy groan of the suspension onto the ground, looking like a steel monster of death ready to roll with its purple abstract paint job, sheer size and that turret.

Lalna tries not to look too envious at their ride, watching him walk around to the side and climb into the driver’s seat, the truck coming to life a moment later. However, they don't simply go roaring off into the distance, raising their voice to be heard above the truck’s engines, leaning out of the driver's seat to gesture to Lalna.

“Are you just going to sit there and mope? I mean, I can’t stop you, but I have better places to be,” Not-a-bandit says, sounding a little bit too smug for Lalna’s liking. Lalna stares. They just mutter something that sounds a lot like ‘tourists’ before the gravity of his offer hits Lalna.

“Are you kidding? Of course I’m coming with you!” He scrambles to his feet, giving the definitely not-a-bandit figure the widest smile he can manage without his face hurting and races off around the side of the truck, figuring out how to climb into the turret’s seat through clambering around the back and hopping into it. The truck bounces up and down from his weight until he settles into the seat.

The seat is leather, which will be a pain in hot areas and there’s a spring (or what feels like a spring) digging into his thigh already but Lalna doesn’t give a shit. The moment he climbed into the turret’s seat, his new companion is already turning the truck onto the road, engines purring all the while which transforms into a magnificent roar as they begin to coax the truck into hitting maximum speed without the truck falling apart or sliding off the road. 

The wind ruffles Lalna’s hair, drying him out and offering a cool relief to the humid swamp air. He pulls down his goggles, the HUD flickering on without any prompting; it’s a testament to the craftsmanship that his goggles hadn’t become permanently damaged despite him concussing himself in the escape pod earlier during his rough landing. He makes a note to buy five spare goggles from the manufacturer and to leave a five-star glowing review once he has access to the network. 

Speaking of which, Lalna performs an experimental 360 degree turn in the turret’s seat, amazed that he can even do so, murmuring a childish ‘wheeeeee’ all the while. Definitely not-a-bandit may have snorted in amusement, but Lalna's enjoying himself with his new toy to bother responding or take notice. 

His trigger finger is itching to try out the gun controls. He also suppresses the urge to take apart the console just for fun, not wanting to risk disabling the weapon by accident with his tinkering. The gun’s turning is silky smooth, despite it being clearly of bandit origin. He sends mental praises to whoever put it together because it is one mean piece of machinery clearly meant for greater purposes rather than be just a truck decoration. 

He swings around to peer down at not-a-bandit, figuring he’ll ask permission to fire just in case he pisses them off if he fires the gun without giving prior notice. 

“Hey!” He yells down at not-a-bandit. 

“What?” They respond a beat later, glancing up at him before their eyes return to the road. 

“Can I shoot the gun?” Lalna dearly hopes that whatever deity is looking out for him in that moment that not-a-bandit says yes. 

“The turret? Sure, just make sure not to shoot anything in our path or aim ahead of us, because you know, I have to drive that way,” They say. Lalna doesn’t get why they're not excited about the turret because it’s so cool, but whatever. 

“Okay.” Despite making all attempts to sound nonchalant, Lalna’s mouth drops in amazement when the turret starts spewing out buzzsaws in a furious flurry of bright orange sparks instead of plain old bullets which is just a thousand times more awesome. 

Now he really wants to open the console and the interior of the truck just to see how it runs and if he can rig it to run a teensy bit better. Obviously not while the owner’s around, of course, or while they're driving. It's their truck, but Lalna has the sneaking suspicion that they haven't performed maintenance on it in ages. It might be holding the truck back, a concept the bothers him a little, university shenanigans coming to mind.

Just for fun, Lalna ends shooting two rakks right out of the sky, scoring large notches in most of the trees they pass, dings and shears a rusted barrel into submission before they finally notice his experimenting. 

“Cut that out, you’re drawing attention!"

“Sorry!” Lalna shouts back (he’s not sorry at all, far too pleased with how good his aim is), then spends the rest of the trip admiring the turret’s consoles until boredom sinks in. 

Lalna breaks his former oath to not tinker with the turret while they're driving, materialising a screwdriver behind the cover of the turret and starts fiddling with the wiring under the panel, wriggling down further into the seat to do so. He makes sure first that the driver is too focused the road to catch on before continuing, checking every now and then to be sure. 

\--

After what seems like eternity (only to Lalna, that is), Rythian's limbs are beginning to protest from driving for too long. He brings the truck to a stop behind a derelict building on the side on the road, turning headlights of the truck off and plunging them and their surroundings into darkness. His companion’s blond head pops up from behind the turret’s seat, one of their hands pushing up their goggles, the lens darkening. 

Rythian would have been interested in the goggles if his limbs didn’t ache all over and in whether or not his companion had been napping in the seat. He climbs out of the driver’s seat, stretching under the moonlight. 

His companion almost falls face first out of the turret seat when trying to get out. Rythian would have snickered if he didn’t feel sympathetic as they’ve been trapped in the seat for the duration of the drive as well and their limbs also must ache. 

They slide down into the back of the truck, massaging their other arm and letting their legs hang off the back. Rythian comes around to them, feeling the circulation returning to his legs.

“While we’re taking a break, who are you?” His companion asks, before adding, "I can’t keep calling you not-a-bandit in my head.” They rub the back of their head with a hand. 

“You can call me Rythian,” Rythian says, after a moment of not quite dramatic deliberation, pleased to hear that his voice is no longer cracking or hoarse.

“Lalna,” Lalna replies in the way of an introduction as he's looking around in the dark. He can’t see properly in the dark without his goggles on. He’s wondering where they are while he attempts to return circulation to his lower limbs, because that is an unbearable amount of pins and needles currently afflicting his legs. “Where are we?"

“Highlands,” Rythian responds in an absent tone, drawing a shotgun to loosely holster it on his belt. “We’re taking a break for the night because I’m too exhausted to keep driving."

Lalna eyes his shotgun before deciding to trust that Rythian won’t shoot him. His own logic dictates that if Rythian had wanted to rob him, he would have done so in a place where it would have been easier to dump his body. “I can drive if you can’t,” He volunteers despite the beginnings of a headache.

Rythian shoots him a sharp look. “It’s too dark now. We can’t drive with the headlights off to avoid attention or risk running off the road and into places where we’re not wanted."

Lalna opens his mouth to argue, then decides that Rythian has a very valid point. Also, Rythian has a good amount of 'being on Pandora' experience than him, so he wins out anyway. 

“You can drive in the morning though. Maybe,” Rythian concedes as if sensing his disappointment. Lalna perks up straightaway with a bright grin. He’s surprised when he notices there and then that Rythian’s eyes are lit up with a pulsing blue glow in the dark, vanishing every now and then as Rythian blinks. 

He’s fascinated. 

Lalna’s never met anybody who had cybernetic eye implants before, considering the risks and the expenses involved. Usually people only had one eye replaced but Rythian’s sporting not one, but two implants, which earns him a few cool points in Lalna’s book. He’s really kicking himself for not noticing sooner, what with his minor concussion and his attention really latching onto other items of interest at the time, like the turret. 

Rythian coughs into one hand, drawing him out of thoughts, trying his best not to sound so awkward at being stared at. 

“The building is empty. I’ve been here a few times. It’s pretty locked down tight but I know how to get in," He explains, careful not to raise his voice. Lalna understands though; neither of them want to get into a fight in the middle of nowhere while it's completely dark for fear of friendly fire.

He mourns the chance to stare more at Rythian’s implants and figure out what model and what sort of modifications are installed, though the idea of breaking and entering is much more appealing at that moment. He slides off the back of the truck, following Rythian around the side of the building after Rythian does something to the truck; he probably locked it down, considering there’s not a Catch-A-Ride station around for miles for him to digistruct another one if anything happens to it.

The building itself is an old residential house, one story high and rather small. There’s an old grocer’s neon sign dangling off the side, missing several letters and exposed wires swaying in the breeze. The windows are barred, with metal shutters preventing attempts at entry, though that clearly hasn’t stopped some from trying; they look like they’ve given up, considering none of the windows and doors look broken into.

Lalna follows Rythian to a dumpster against one wall and watches Rythian try to push the dumpster. Lalna joins him and moves the brunt of the weight onto his mechanical shoulder, feeling the pressure build in his arm as he helps shove it, knowing that his arm can handle it. 

With both of them pushing, the dumpster shifts about two meters to reveal a small hatch just barely large enough for a grown man to crawl through. The hatch sits midway on the wall, probably a remnant left behind that once moved supplies in and out of the building, Lalna muses. 

Rythian fiddles with the lock for about a minute, Lalna keeping a nervous watch, unsure if anything is lurking in the dark. He’s grateful when the hatch slides open. As if sensing Lalna’s wariness about being left alone, Rythian graciously allows him to crawl through first. 

The hatch is just barely large enough for him to slide through without having to pull his arms close to his sides. 

Lalna’s feet hit the floor of the building, sending up a cloud of dust. He holds his breath as the dust settles but Rythian landing behind him sends up another cloud, eliciting a loud sneeze from him.

“Bless you,” says Rythian, who still has his scarf pulled up all the way to his nose. Lalna blinks as his eyes well up with tears from the force of his sneeze. 

“Fuck you, why do you get a mask?” He wheezes before sneezing again. 

“Because I’m amazingly prepared like that,” is Rythian’s smug reply. He slides the hatch down behind them, clicking the latch down. 

Rythian sweeps the place for whatever it is he’s looking for. It’s a tiny place, rather neat despite having been abandoned but the sheer amount of dust inside is more than Lalna's nose can handle. He ends up sidling away to a less dustier part of the store, looking around. He ends up returning to the main room after finding nothing but a windowless storeroom filled with more dust, cobwebs, torn cardboard boxes and rusty lockers with nothing in them. The spiders have long since fled (did Pandora even have spiders? Lalna doesn't want to think too much about what's the equivalent of spiders on Pandora).

Rythian’s cleared away a corner of the room that’s largely dust free and set up a lamp that’s heartily glowing, rendering the room with a warm, cheerful glow despite the ransacked and extremely dusty interior. 

He has his back to a wall, sitting cross-legged with a shotgun in arm’s reach. There’s an empty can of rations next to him. Lalna is not going to ask if Rythian ate at warp speed because he was only gone for a grand total five minutes to explore the place and there’s no sign of Rythian having eaten save for the empty can. His scarf is also firmly in place, not a thread out of place or a speck of food on it. 

Lalna spends a few seconds contemplating that Rythian might not be human, biting his lip to stop a smile due to the ridiculousness of that train of thought. Of course Rythian's human; he's actually acted and behaved within human expectations, even if he does look a little tired, more so than what constitutes as normal. He has limits too, considering that he's just conceded being tired from driving for so long, after taking them both through more swamp, onto a bridge bridging the land masses and onto a road along the coast before heading into mountainous territory. 

Rythian nudges a can towards Lalna when he flops down across from him. Lalna pops the seal with ease, pulls a spork out of his inventory and wolfs down what’s inside of it without scrutinizing the contents too closely. He’s actually pretty hungry, what with his last meal having been several long hours ago?

“Hey, how long is a day on Pandora?” He asks with mouth full, woeful ignorance and manners be damned. Rythian's eyes have long since slid shut. Lalna mistakes it for nodding off until Rythian opens his eyes to glance at him, looking contemplative.

“About ninety hours, give or take a couple of hours,” Rythian answers after a thoughtful beat. 

Lalna almost chokes on his mouthful, coughing up a storm. Rythian looks just a touch concerned, then relaxes when Lalna doesn’t need rescuing, saving himself just then; he’s not about to die on Pandora from choking from his last meal (admittedly, that would have been just sad).

“Ninety?” He asks, incredulous, doing the math and coming up with that equating to about three and a half off-world days. That is a lot of naps. 

“Ninety, including day and night,” Rythian confirms without sounding too concerned.

“How are you not dead from lack of sleep or something?” Lalna boggles at him.

“Sleep if you need to and keep an eye on the clock. Really, it’s not that hard once you get used to it.” Rythian’s genuine puzzlement is heart-warming, but really, Lalna’s still in mild shock. That still doesn’t stop him from finishing off the rest of his can though, with satiating his hunger a bigger priority over shock about the stark difference in time and cycles. Lalna tosses the spork back into his inventory after licking it clean, ignoring the air of disdain Rythian adopts at his lack of manners. The can goes next to its twin.

“Eeurgh, what was in that can?” The aftertaste has too much basil and onion, not to mention that the contents had been slightly too chunky to have been entirely a liquid based sustenance. 

“Beef ravioli, Pandoran style. Except it’s not beef. It’s not that bad once you get used to it.” 

Lalna isn’t sure whether to find comfort in that Rythian is having fun at his expense or be exasperated. He’s doing pretty well for a guy who just landed on Pandora several hours ago. Plus, isn’t the average time for surviving on Pandora is five minutes or something? He’s sure he just outlasted a whole bunch of people, tourists included. 

“Do I want to know what was substituted for beef instead?” The moment the question pops out of his mouth, Lalna regrets asking when Rythian deigns to grace him with a response right away, his mind unprepared.

“Skag meat.” Now’s that just fucking nasty. Even he knows what a skag is and that they use the same hole for eating and crapping. He slaps down the urge to vomit, if only to not give Rythian the satisfaction of throwing up the local cuisine. He’s not even sure if Rythian is yanking his chain, judging from how calm he’s being. 

\--

Rythian really, really wants to break out into hysterical laughter as Lalna’s face has just turned a rather fascinating shade of green upon hearing that he just ate skag meat. He hasn’t had this much entertainment in months. He’s just going to milk it for all it’s worth because when’s the next time he’s going to have this much fun at someone’s expense? Also, it's usually others having fun at his expense, so there.

More importantly, he’s doing a fantastic job of keeping a poker face, in his opinion.

Lalna probably doesn’t appreciate it one iota though.

\--

Lalna wakes up with a massive kink in his organic shoulder and several more in various places over his body but most pressing of all, his head is feeling as if he split it right down the middle with an ax and every single crack from the split has spread throughout his skull, giving him the mother of all headaches. 

He can't help but let out a pathetic pained sound, not quite up to moving or else risk further pain. He squeezes his eyes shut against the faint light filtering in through the cracks of the building's walls.

Rythian's face sharpens into view when he opens his eyes next, his expression one of deep concern and looking slightly less exhausted compared to the last time Lalna had seen him. 

"You feeling okay? You've been curled up in the same spot despite the sun rising several hours ago," He observes, sounding just as worried as he looks.

"I hit my head pretty hard yesterday," Lalna explains. Then he stops because he has to close his eyes to stop the light from making his head pulse with tiny needles of fury poking the back of his eyeballs and into his brain. He's never been more glad that Rythian hadn't woke him up early and let him drive. He probably would have crashed. 

"You are definitely not driving," Rythian says dryly.

"Thanks for stating the obvious," Lalna musters in the way of a comeback before groaning again as the pain spikes once more. 

"Can you sit up?" Lalna feels hands on him, shifting him to sit upright with the utmost of care; there's an awkward moment when he feels Rythian's eyes on his mechanical arm and shoulder as if Rythian's just learned how far the machinery travels up his arm from moving him, probably wondering about the circumstances. Lalna couldn't possibly give a shit, far too focused on not keeling over onto his side again from the mild nausea that wells up in the back of his throat. 

There's a cool container pressed into his metal hand in the next second, with Rythian's warm hand is guiding the hand holding the container to his mouth. Lalna sips the water slowly, feeling the coolness relieve the dryness in his mouth and throat, careful not to splutter or cough from gulping it down greedily. He feels better by the time he's drank half the container. The nausea has mostly abated, under control for now. Rythian presses another thing into his other hand. 

"What's this?" He slurs after closing his eyes and opening them again. There's a tiny white pill sitting in the palm of his hand. He curls his fingers around it as to not let it roll off, having to exert more energy to get his fingers to obey.

"Painkiller.” 

“Where did you get it?” Lalna squints at the writing on the pill but gives up after failing twice, his headache flaring up if he focuses too much on the letters. 

"When you've been around on Pandora long enough, you learn to stock items. Never know when you'll need any of them, even if you don't think so at the time," Rythian remarks, sounding far too modest. 

Lalna supposes it's a lesson of sorts, delivered through the act of kindness and one that wouldn't be forgotten so easily. He decides to spare Rythian from further embarrassment and questions. Lalna swallows the pill before taking another sip of water to wash it down and waits for it to kick in, trusting Rythian completely. 

The two sit in comfortable silence, before Lalna feels the headache receding, actually feeling his limbs obey completely rather than feeling like he's just pulling on non-responsive, tangled strings attached to them. 

Lalna remembers being curious about their location and decides to ask to fill in the time.

"Do you have a map?" He croaks, coughing once before taking another swing from the container. He holds it out for Rythian to take but Rythian shakes his head; he guesses that it's his now, considering he doesn't have one of his own, feeling guilty about mooching off. Rythian doesn't appear too concerned though.

"Of Pandora? Yes, but it's in my HUD."

"I'm pretty sure that you can share it." There's a brief silence as Rythian looks away to presumably switch to his HUD. He sneaks a peek at Rythian’s eyes, watching the the subtle rings around his pupils move. It’s rather hypnotic, watching the rings vanish, only to appear elsewhere in a clockwise and counter-clockwise motion, following no predefined pattern. The blue glow never wavers or changes in intensity in the time Lalna spends staring. 

After five prolonged minutes, Lalna slowly comes to the conclusion that Rythian does not know how to make use of his ECHO and HUD. "You don't know how to share it, do you?” He tries his best to sound not too amused and fails. 

"Shut up, I've never had to share it before," Rythian grumbles, looking annoyed.

"Sharing is caring,” Lalna stops to snicker before continuing, "It's not that hard. All you have to do is drop the file into your public folder and I can just download it from there," Lalna starts to explain but stops when Rythian just gives him a blank look. 

"Let me break it down for you like this." Lalna finds an undisturbed dusty patch on the floor and uses his finger to sketch out the HUD to illustrate his points since he can't exactly see into Rythian's HUD. "You'll also have to tell me how to connect to the network too..." 

Twenty entertaining minutes later, Rythian has received a crash course in how to best make use of his ECHO and HUD. Thankfully, he also told Lalna how to gain access to Pandora's network. Lalna's never being so pleased to regain access before, the relief akin to drinking cold water after a long sustained absence. 

Rythian's also added Lalna to his favorites contact list. It'd been empty before, though plenty of familiar faces pestered him every now and then, with Rythian never being the one to call first which they just attributed to him being a loner, rather than being a technologically inept person. Lalna tries to ECHO his commissioner, but gets nothing but an away message, forcing him to give up for the time being. 

Lalna is proud at the results of his tutelage when Rythian also sends him the blueprints of the truck along with an interactive map of Pandora from a bird’s eye view. The additional file pleases Lalna, though he still has to seek permission for digistructing a truck though. He's more than content to poke around the blueprints and annotate it as he sees fit. He also realises that his headache has been reduced to the rare pulse of pain and that the light isn’t making him want him to crawl away and hide in a place devoid of light. 

He nudges Rythian, "I'm feeling a lot better, so thanks."

"You're not driving though." Rythian shoots him another sharp look. Lalna wants to protest, though concedes considering that Rythian had practically saved him from enduring further pain and discomfort, so he lets it slide. 

"Fine. I want to drive tomorrow though."

"We'll see," Rythian says over his shoulder, sliding the hatch open and climbing through it. He holds it open for Lalna to climb through though, before locking the hatch. Together, they push the dumpster over it and before Lalna knows it, they're on the road again, this time, heading towards where Rythian remembers the last known location of trains in the region.

\--

Rythian still insists on not letting Lalna drive due to the fact that every now and then, Lalna's headaches flare without warning, though disappear just as quickly. Lalna just puts down to the notoriously bumpy roads aggravating his headaches into existence every now and then. Eventually, they pass a battered sign saying 'Three Horns Valley - Divide'. Lalna dives into his map (as he's been doing with every sign) to see where they are. He's never heard of these locations before and with every change of scenery, Lalna drinks it all up, appreciating the long drives filled with comfortable silence between him and Rythian. 

He'll be sad to leave though. He did take pictures via the HUD on his goggles, albeit the first few had turned out blurry and unrecognizable. Rythian had caught on rather fast to his tourist tendencies and stopped the truck to let Lalna take better pictures before Lalna gave him a thumbs-up to let them continue on the road. 

Rythian doesn't talk much. Lalna talks enough for the two of them, offering a tourist's insight into what he sees and thinks about Pandora, with Rythian offering a correction or tidbit every now and then as if aware of their brief friendship and Lalna's impending departure, not wanting to form an attachment. Lalna kind of misses their earlier dynamic though, if he really had to be honest with himself. 

He's fairly sure the feeling is mutual, recalling how Rythian had seemed like he'd struggled to find his words when they first met. He has the impression that Rythian rarely has company while traveling, favoring solitude and enduring long bouts of loneliness. And for what? He doesn't know anything about Rythian, aside from the fact that Rythian despises bandits, being the center of attention, and knows how to survive. 

Lalna's beginning to suspect that underneath the posturing, Rythian is quite possibly more caring than he acts and looks and doesn't expect much in the way of gratitude, seeming awkward about thanks and praise.

Rythian turns off the road, past a checkpoint that extends into a place called 'Tundra Express'. Lalna extends the zoom on his goggles to see a snow covered landscape dotted with dry patches of land where the snow has melted. He sees towers sticking out of the ground, equipped with flame throwers in areas with hives? 

"Rythian!"

"What?"

"What are those?"

"Varkid hives. You don't want to get into a fight with varkids, they're a nuisance."

"I see trains!"

"Yes, we'll get you on one soon," Rythian starts, then stops speaking abruptly to turn onto another road, avoiding the so-called varkid territory and hives. Lalna really wants to see one, just to see why Rythian had warned him against getting up close to see them. But just this once, he'll heed Rythian's advice to avoid the inevitable 'I told you so', so he squashes that temptation, his eyes following the train tracks all the way along the river. 

Rythian stops well away from a station. He climbs out and gestures for Lalna to do the same, dropping into a crouch behind a series of rocks that hide them and the truck from view.

"We're getting you onto that train and without anybody noticing. It's all automated but there's still people around." Lalna can see why; there's people in various outfits walking around and supervising a series of crates being loaded onto the train. There's a series of cargo wagons behind it, all of them open on the top and sides, waiting to be filled. 

"I don't know who owns the trains but I think it should go to a spaceport to be unloaded," Rythian notes, though he sounds unsure. 

"It'll be fine. I can take care of myself," Lalna says, giving Rythian a reassuring grin that Rythian doesn't return. 

"Go around the back. I'll follow you and make sure nobody sees. Try not to be seen though, I'd rather not teleport people away and raise a fuss."

"You can teleport people?" That earns a stare from him.

Rythian lets out an amused sound. "Nothing too impressive, it's just a short range teleport once they're tagged by me."

"That's still pretty cool, though."

"Let's just go already," Rythian grouses. Lalna would have made fun of him but offers a mock salute in response and sidles around the rock, making a mad dash to the back of the train and the first cart when he thinks nobody's looking. 

Lalna doesn't know if Rythian is really following him, far too focused on looking out for anybody who might be nearby. 

He stops in his tracks the moment he hears a noise and waits for the footsteps to fade before continuing, looking for a cart that isn't too full but not too empty either so that he's not forced to travel in a cramped space or be spotted too easily. 

Lalna startles whenever the crane drops a shipment onto the train with a loud bang and hiss of machinery, realizing that he'll have to find a spot before it reaches the last cart.

Midway down the track, he finds a cart that has a gap in the shipment crates, the crane having moved somewhere further down the line. He climbs in, pleased to find that he has just enough room to stretch his arms and legs out. Right when he's climbing in, the headache returns, nausea in tow. 

He hunches over, head in hands and legs not quite tucked into his hiding spot. Somewhere in the midst of all the pain clouding his mind, he hears footsteps turn around the corner, approaching him and he makes to stand and hide, though the headache hits him the hardest in that moment, paralysing him. 

"Hey, are you okay?" A woman's voice asks from right beside him, muffled since he has his head clutched in both his hands. Lalna doesn't answer her until the headache stops pounding enough for him to gather his words up and not spit out a load of words that sounds suspiciously like swearing.

"My head is killing me," He says, right before he ends up on the ground, curled up with this eyes squeezed shut and wishing that the headache would go away already and in the back of his mind, thinking, shit, he's been seen. 

Panic wells up when he wonders where Rythian is and if he's nearby though he tamps that down, knowing that Rythian can take care of himself and that he's probably watching over him. He has no idea of what Rythian's planning though, deciding to trust the part of his gut that's not rolling around in nausea.

"Hold on, I got something that might help." The woman crouches down in front of him, her scuffling giving her away to Lalna. Lalna feels her pulling up the sleeve on the side of his body that doesn't have his metal arm, a pinprick of pain digging into his arm. Something trickles into his arm from the site of pain. Lalna just closes his eyes and relaxes, the headache beginning to subside gradually, mind beginning to return to normal.

After five minutes, he opens his eyes to see a young woman kneeling in front of him, holding an empty Anshin syringe in one hand and looking very concerned.

"I should probably get me one of those for these situations," Lalna says, pulling himself up into a sitting position. That earns him a short laugh from her, causing him to feel rather warm and fuzzy on the inside for a few moments. 

"You should, just in case you know, nobody's around to help you," She says, standing up and tossing the syringe into a nearby bin with a distant clinging sound.

"Thanks for the help," Lalna says, albeit somewhat uncertainly. He's just been caught sneaking, but he's not sure if she knows, thankful that she helped him and yet. He's curious about her tattoos on her face, neck and eye, the purple coloring emphasized by her black business suit. 

"You're welcome. What are you doing here on Flux Inc. property?" She raises a questioning eyebrow at him as he stands up straight, dusting off the dirt on his clothes with one hand, shuffling from one foot to another.

Lalna smiles nervously at her. "I got lost," He admits, making sure that he looks sheepish and regretful about his action. His stomach churns since he doesn't exactly have another options (bluffing is one, but he's never been very good at it unless fully prepared to carry it out) aside from shooting which is not a valid or wise decision.

She stares at him.

"Honest!"

"It looked like you were trying to sneak on board, actually," She points out, peering at him, taking in his state. He's managed to find a place to wash out his hair so that it's not exactly bloody anymore, but there's still stains on his shirt. He also knows that he isn't exactly in the best of shape since there's a few bruises here and there that are a mottled yellow, still healing up. He doesn't have any large scratches that don't require stitches, thankfully.

"I was stopping to take a rest, as you saw. Since I just hit my head pretty recently," He stumbles across his words, trying to find an explanation that isn't constructed entirely on flimsy lies, though he's not kidding about hitting his head hard (that being said, he should probably find a doctor or something if the headaches start up again).

"Not here, I hope, because that would mean paperwork and I hate paperwork." She puts both her hands on her hips, still surveying him with the airs of someone trying to figure out how to deal with a caught stowaway in the most diplomatic way possible. Or violent way. So long as she's thinking, he has hope; that's good enough for him.

"No, no. I hit my head a long time ago," Lalna races to reassure her, then stops, recalling what he'd just said and the implications. "Wait, that didn't come out right," He starts laughing, covering his face in shame with a hand, face starting to burn with embarrassment. To his surprise though, she starts cracking up. 

"I think you might want to see a doctor about that before you really regret not going," She says in between bursts of laughter.

"I crashed, hit my head, walked a long way, got lost and ended up here, okay," He explains rather huffily. "I thought hitching a ride might be a good idea since I'm trying to get to the spaceport."

She shakes her head, her laughter dying down, though the corner of her lips twitch every now and again. "These trains aren't going to the spaceport. They're carrying eridium from the mines back to Flux Inc. facilities for processing," She explains, sounding sympathetic at his plight.

He deflates at that. "Oh."

"If you want to get off-world, you can just submit a request to your boss and they'll pass it to the Fast Travel Station guys so you can do so. It's a lot cheaper than paying for a shuttle. Besides, the company foots the bill for off-world Fast Travel?" She points out helpfully.

Lalna blinks at her, his mouth hanging open. Then he consults his HUD, firing off a quick message to his commissioner with a brief explanation for his absence, hoping that he'll get a response. 

Why didn't he think of that sooner? It would have saved a lot of trouble, but still. 

"Hello, you're not going to pass out again, are you?" Her voice filters into his thoughts. Lalna logs out of his HUD, shaking his head, kicking himself mentally several times for good measure for not thinking of that one solution and instead fixating on every single other possible one in the attempt. 

"I'm an idiot," He mutters under his breath. Then, much more loudly so she doesn't think he's calling her an idiot, he says, "Thanks. I wouldn't have realized it if it weren't for you."

"You're welcome," She says warmly, the edges of her eyes crinkling with her smile. "Anything else, before I send the trains off without you on them?"

"Where's the nearest Fast Travel Station?"

"That way," She points up the hill towards the checkpoint leading out of Tundra Express. The exact one he'd come down in a truck a while ago. 

Before Lalna can say thanks, there's 'vwip' sound, his surroundings blurring together for one second before he finds himself standing some distance away. Rythian is standing between him and her, a shotgun pointed right at her face. She's not defenseless though, having drawn a Maliwan rocket launcher in the interim, her smile having given way to a puzzled frown. 

"Back down and put away the gun before I fire. I'll live because I've got a shield and you don't," She warns Rythian, hefting the launcher so that it aims right at him, her finger poised on the trigger. Lalna briefly admires her strength, because the launcher is not an easy thing to carry or aim, especially since she barely comes up to his shoulder.

"I don't need a shield to get in a shot before you," Rythian snarls, both hands steadying his shotgun's aim. 

"Rythian! What's going on, why are you pointing a gun at her?" Lalna tries to edge past him but Rythian bars him from approaching any further, placing himself directly in Lalna's way, back turned the entire time on him and never taking his eyes off her.

"I know you don't know a lot about Pandora, but I refuse to believe that you don't know what a Siren is," Rythian scoffs. Despite the jab smarting (okay, Rythian has a valid point, he really doesn't know anything about Pandora, but he's improving every day), Lalna nurses it for a moment before becoming confused by Rythian's hostility. 

"And why you're talking to one as if you didn't have anything more important to do?" Rythian stops talking to shoot him a disappointed look. Lalna holds both hands up in a defensive gesture.

"Look, I didn't know she was one, okay? I don't even know what a Siren is!" In his defense, he really doesn't know; he hopes that's clear in his confusion though Rythian looks like he strongly doubts that claim with every fibre of his being. 

"There's one standing in front of you with her tattoos completely exposed and if that's not a dead giveaway, I don't know what is." 

"Not to interrupt or anything, I'm standing right here," She interrupts, looking like she's about to unload rockets on them at any second.

"Wait, I really don't know what a Siren is," Lalna pleads. "Can we please talk this out?"

"What were you talking to her about, anyway?"

"I was asking her for directions!" Lalna doesn't need to see Rythian's face to know that he hadn't been prepared to hear that upon hearing Rythian sharply draw in a breath, his posture shifting from defensive to uncertain in the way his shoulders slump, ever so slightly. 

"It's true. He really was asking for directions," She confirms, nodding once before breaking out into hysterical laughter, the launcher lowering to point at the ground. Rythian mirrors her action, actually chuckling and Lalna, for one second, believes that they can actually talk this out. However, both launcher and gun are raised to point at one another once the laughter subsides in the next second, the two resuming twin expressions of grim seriousness.

"Oh, come on," Lalna groans. "Please?"

After a pregnant pause, Rythian sighs, holstering his gun as the tension draws out of his entire frame. "Fine, I believe you."

"Thank you, I was worried I was going to have to hit the two of you with rockets." The Siren lets out a relieved breath she'd apparently been holding, putting away her rocket launcher, dusting off her suit with a gloved hand. 

"Especially since you seem really charming and all." She gestures to Lalna with her comment and he rubs the back of his head in response, feeling rather touched by that. 

"I can't say the same for your bounty hunter friend, though." She turns to deadeye Rythian, looking unimpressed.

"I am not a bounty hunter," Rythian automatically says, bristling.

"Come to think of it, if you're not a bounty hunter, what are you?" Lalna asks, racking his memory for Rythian's occupation ever being mentioned during their talks. He comes up with nothing, curiosity piqued. 

Rythian looks like he'd rather not be having this conversation, but finally, he says, "A Vault Hunter."

There is a prolonged silence. Lalna doesn't know what a Vault Hunter is, though the Siren clearly does since she looks like she's just met her own personal god. She's sporting the toothiest, brightest smile Lalna's ever seen on somebody (and while discounting his own). Both her eyes are practically sparkling with happiness, including the one eye that's flecked with purple, the flecks seemingly shining. 

She bounces over to Rythian, taking one of his hands in her own in a vice grip of adoration and Rythian starts, looking like he wants to be somewhere else right this second and not having his hand held by a Siren who only just wanted to shoot rockets at him five minutes ago.

"Can I come with you?" She asks, her tone a soft, serious whisper. Lalna thinks it would have been funny if Rythian didn't look so chagrined. He has the impression that neither of them want to find out what will happen if Rythian says 'no', especially Rythian.

"She's cool, I can vouch for her," Lalna says to take the edge off the situation, holding back a snicker. Rythian shoots him an unappreciative look, before pulling his hand out of her grip though he relaxes at Lalna's reassurance.

"Why does everyone want to shoot me first before wanting to tag along," Rythian grumbles as he shakes his hand to return the circulation to it, in awe of the strength of the Siren's grip. 

"Fine, you can come along since you're just about as bad as Lalna." 

Lalna pretends not to have heard that, far too overjoyed that the Siren is joining them and if she's not cool enough, she's even cooler for wanting to tag along with them, earlier inclination to shoot them aside.

"You definitely will not regret this," The Siren says, turning to beam her brilliant toothy smile at Lalna who gives her one of his own to match. 

\--

In the twenty minutes to Sanctuary Hole, they learn that her name is Nanosounds and she's with a mining corporation called Flux Inc., which ships the metal to off-world traders. Rythian is wary of her affiliations and powers, but Lalna quickly warms up to her. Lalna wants to see a demonstration of her powers once she explains what a Siren is, though Rythian absently tells her 'not in the back of the truck, please'. 

She whispers an inquiry to Lalna about him 'normally being a wet blanket?', to which Lalna happily confirms. The two share conspiratorial giggles, doing their best to muffle the sound while Rythian pointedly ignores the two of them as he's driving. 

He thinks he's rather unappreciated around these parts, considering the effort he's taking to keep them out of extra trouble even if it's a simple drive from Point A to Point B. Granted, there are numerous obstacles (like bullymongs and cacti) that could pose a problem at any point, but it's the thought behind the effort that counts. 

Rythian is contemplating what this new development of acquiring a new companion means. While he doesn't shun people following him, he's more or less at a loss as to how to deal with being around people again, painfully aware of the fact his paranoia and cautiousness seem unreasonable in company. 

It'd been a little easier when it was just him having to deal with the reality of living on such a violent planet all by himself. There's also other concerns when traveling in a group. One of his more pressing concerns is the reason behind a Siren wanting to tag along with a Vault Hunter, because that is actually quite significant in regards to the bigger picture. He'll have to keep an eye on her. 

When he hears them being quiet, he takes the chance to apologize for pointing a gun at her, explaining the reasons behind his hostility. The first reason revolves around helping Lalna go back to where he came from. Rythian still doesn't know the full story of how Lalna fell out of the sky, strangely enough. He'll have to find out sometime. 

The second (where he explains more for Lalna's benefit since he knows he's listening) deals with the fact that he knows that there are two Sirens on Pandora and that they are a force to reckon with, even if they mean well. A third Siren doesn't exactly bode well for Pandora's stability and that he's sure she means well despite his suspicions. 

He adds that he hopes she understands, because really, it's the most he's ever talked and he's sure he's not up to the task of having to debate the finer points. Not that he says the latter portion out loud. He's talked more in the past few days than he has in the last few months. 

He takes it as a good sign since it means he hasn't exactly forgotten how to be social. 

Nanosounds says she does, sounding contemplative. She tells him that she's been careful with her presence and powers, not wanting to attract too much attention, especially from bounty hunters. The part about her understanding his reasons earns her his respect. 

Rythian's alarmed that there are bounty hunters involved, though she reassures him that she won't be a problem and that she will definitely handle them without needing their help. Lalna offers to help though and tells them that he has a surprise for anybody who decides to ambush them, though Rythian isn't sure if he can handle any more surprises because it's just been one after another as of late. He'll just roll with it though, since he has little else in the way of alternatives. 

Rythian pulls up in front of Sanctuary Hole outside of the gate, climbing out of the driver's seat after fiddling with the truck's locking mechanism. Nanosounds and Lalna both hop out of the back, staring up in wonder at the giant walls marking the boundary of Sanctuary Hole. 

Rythian walks up to the gate’s intercom, leaning down to bang on it several times before a familiar tinny, accented voice barks out at him.

“Who’s there?"

“I didn’t think you were serious about installing an intercom as a security measure," Rythian begins, sounding amused. "You know that people can pretend to be someone else, right?" He points out, not really expecting much in way of an answer or comeback.

“That’s why this beauty has a two-way camera installed!” A fuzzy ECHO feed of a man's chest pops up above the intercom. Rythian and Lalna’s faces both turn a delicate shade of bright red (though Rythian's is more or less hidden by his mask), while Nanosounds stares in amazement at how such a chest could have such magnificent hairy, curly locks en masse. Also, there's a tiny pink heart tattooed on one of his pecs, which she thinks is rather endearing. She has to stifle a giggle at both Rythian and Lalna's reactions, one of her hands coming up to hide her giggling. 

“Rythian! You look like you've seen better days." The voice stops sounding suspicious, adopting a mixed tone of relief and warmth. 

"Ravs, please change the ECHO view." Rythian just pinches the bridge of his nose, politely averting his eyes to the closed gate. He sounds like he's had this conversation several times to no avail, judging from how exasperated he sounds to Lalna and Nanosounds. The two just look at each other, Nanosounds with a grin on her face and Lalna's eyebrows disappearing into his hair.

"Sorry, nothing I can do about that," Ravs does not sound sorry as he jostles the feed which is still broadcasting the view of his chest. "I don't really have any other places to put my ECHO, you know?" 

"Just open the gate already," Rythian says, wanting to crawl into a hole so that people would stop wanting to make him die of embarrassment. 

\--

Sanctuary Hole is a large circular town crammed into the space of a small village, the center of which is a large hole in the ground. Thin air and flimsy metal bars serves as fences between the drop into the darkness leading to the Caustic Caverns and solid ground, so Lalna cautiously walks on Rythian's left, well away from the sheer drop. Nanosounds just takes one look at it, wondering what he's so fussed about and walks without worrying too much about it. Rythian doesn't appear to be aware of the giant hazard, already making a beeline towards his location of interest. 

There's a bar called the Crooked Caber set on ground level with a sign of a man tossing up a giant log, proudly showing off his muscular arms and his kilt, which only serves to puzzle Lalna and Nanosounds. The two prepare to head off in a completely different direction, though scramble to follow Rythian as he apparently walks right up to the bar and enters. 

The two follow him inside, unsure of what to expect. The bar is quiet, though there's a few patrons milling about and nursing their drinks, all ordinary looking people who seem out of place on Pandora with their beaten down frames and drawn expressions.

Rythian walks over to the bar, leaning down to place an elbow on the counter so that his eyes at level with the bartender's own. The bartender is wearing a leather jacket with the sleeves torn off. Their face is sporting a huge grin directed at Rythian, though their eyes flicker over Nanosounds and Lalna before going back to Rythian. Rythian looks fairly calm, all things considered.

"Ravs," Rythian says with a tone of forced brightness.

"Rythian," Ravs remarks all too casually, putting a half-empty mug on the counter like he's not too concerned about a deathly calm Vault Hunter standing in front of him who's looking a tad mutinous at his nonchalance.

"Ravs," Rythian grounds out.

"How can I help you today? It's a bit too early to be drinking, but I won't complain if you bought a drink or two." If it's possible, Ravs' grin grows slightly bigger.

"You know what I'm here to talk to you about," Rythian says while dead-eying Ravs from across the counter. 

"I cannot possibly imagine what you're here to talk about," Ravs drawls, leaning forward to rest an elbow on the counter. "Unless it's about some business that shouldn't be said and done in front of polite company, which I'm more than happy to carry out back." He pauses to let his words sink in. 

"I didn't think you'd remembered my standing offer, after all this time." He places a hand on the heart tattoo on his chest, giving Rythian a proud, tender look though he looks like he might break character at any second.

To his credit, Rythian doesn't even chuckle, though Nanosounds starts giggling behind her hands while Lalna bites the inside of his cheek, the pain a welcome distraction. 

"You know perfectly well that's the complete opposite of what I'm here for."

"No? The offer still stands if you change your mind anytime," Ravs says, picking up the mug to down half the contents before placing it back on the counter, a playful glint in his eyes.

"For all that is holy and sacred on this planet, and I like to think this planet still has some semblance of such left on it somewhere, I would like you to permanently move your ECHO so that it shows your face and not your chest."

"Rythian, you know that's not possible. I've tried time and time to fix it but it just doesn't stick." Ravs stands up straight to spread both his hands out in a gesture of peace, though Rythian doesn't believe him for one second.

"That's a complete lie."

"You're free to come behind here to try and fix it." Ravs waggles an inviting eyebrow at him. "Or check that my kilt really doesn't have any pockets to put an ECHO." 

Rythian looks like he might vault over the counter and do just that. Instead, he yanks a bar stool closer to him and flops down onto it, bandaged fingers massaging his forehead.

"You know what, forget it," He mutters, loud enough for Ravs to hear. 

Why did he do this to him every single time? What did he even do to deserve this? Rythian's sorely tempted to reach for the mug that Ravs left on the counter and take a long pull from it if it'll give him a break from reality. More likely than not however, the brew is notoriously strong, the ingredients unknown save to Ravs. Also, Rythian is rather fond of remembering what he'd been up to for the past twelve hours, thank you very much.

"I'm not doing it on purpose, you know." Ravs walks around the counter to give Rythian a consoling pat on the shoulder. While Rythian's back is turned, Ravs gives Lalna and Nanosounds the tiniest nod of his head as if to tell them otherwise. "Now, aren't you going to introduce me to your new companions?"

"Nanosounds, it's very lovely to meet you, by the way," She stops giggling, tossing him a grin of approval and holding out a small hand. His grip is firm and strong, riddled with callouses against her own smooth, unmarred skin. 

She doesn't doubt that he's also used to life on Pandora, despite seeming rather harmless at a first glance. She's actually delighted that the Vault Hunter has friends. She wants to meet every single one of them while she's here on Pandora if they're going to be just like Ravs. Not that she's enjoying Rythian's misery, but that's an added bonus she'll take. 

"I've heard quite a bit about you," She concedes, because if it's one thing that Pandora apparently likes, it's drinks that knockout people's brain, hand, eye and body coordination in one pint. "Your brews have earned you quite a reputation in these parts."

"Why thank you, I had no idea people actually enjoyed them, since I don't usually get feedback until a couple of days later." Ravs walks back around the counter, looking thoughtful. "How would you like-"

"Ravs, you're not allowed to give them drinks on the house," Rythian cuts in at that second, throwing him a withering look of disdain. 

Ravs is unmoved by Rythian's disdain, feigning a look of hurt. "I've been trying out lighter mixes. Maybe I'll get feedback sooner rather than later with this batch."

"No." Rythian's response is firm. 

"I'll try one." Nanosounds, Ravs and Rythian's heads swivel to look at Lalna, who'd been standing there and watching the entire time. He raises a hand to give a small wave at Ravs. "I'm Lalna."

"Lalna, you can have a drink on the house." Ravs gives him a genuinely pleased look, pulling a clean mug out and turning around to the series of barrels behind him, turning a tap attached to one and letting whatever is inside the barrels flow down into the mug. Whatever it is, it's clear. Ravs fills the mug up almost to the brim before pushing the mug across the counter. 

Lalna puts out his metal hand to stop it from flying off the counter, since Ravs had pushed it a little too enthusiastically at him. Lalna looks down at it, then shoots Rythian a questioning look. It doesn't look that bad. 

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Rythian notes in a sardonic tone as Lalna pulls a stool over, settling down onto it, his fingers tightening around the handle. That just gives him more of an incentive to try to finish the entire thing.

He knocks back half the mug before he has to put it down and whatever he just drank, it's starting a cozy fire in his stomach and spreading out from there. Lalna can already feel the faintest of blushes hitting his cheeks, drowsiness creeping into his thoughts. He licks his lips to try to place what he just drank. Beer? Whisky? No, moonshine. Perfect moonshine. Lovely, untainted, definitely not poisonous moonshine. 

He's pretty sure there's he's got a ridiculous smile plastered on his face already, right before he decides to finish off the rest, because it's actually fucking fantastic. No wonder why the patrons are so quiet; they're off in their own little world, him included.

"I want one of whatever he's having!" Nanosounds declares, a daredevil look in her eyes. Rythian opens his mouth to stop her but decides that they're adults and if she wants to follow Lalna into the world of being drunk for several hours straight, he's not going to stop her. 

Ravs gives Rythian a triumphant look before grabbing another mug and distilling more the moonshine. Rythian returns him a look with 'don't you start' written all over it. He will however, have a few strong words about Ravs' underhanded plan to get everyone on Pandora drunk out of their minds. Later, since he doesn't exactly want to rain on Ravs' parade since he is not a wet blanket.

"Enjoy," Ravs says cheerfully.

Nanosounds takes her first sip of bandit-made moonshine that day. On top of meeting a Vault Hunter, today definitely is one of the best days in her life that can go next to the moment she mastered her powers and was turned loose on the galaxies. 

Two empty mugs and one hour later, the two have since passed out in one of Ravs' upstairs guest rooms.

Ravs considers it a mission well accomplished, not too fussed about rushing to wake them up anytime soon to pick their brains about his moonshine. Rythian on the order hand, somewhat regrets introducing the two to Ravs even if he did have another reason for coming to the Crooked Caber. 

"What's eating you, Rythian?" Ravs says, coming downstairs after lugging both Nanosounds and Lalna upstairs in one move, easily hefting the two onto his shoulders, careful not to jostle or bang them into the walls as he'd taken them upstairs to drop them onto different beds. He'd even taken care not to slam the door on his way out after tucking them in. "It's not like you to just let anybody tag along with you, even if you're a sucker for pretty faces." 

Rythian is going to ignore the last bit of his sentence because that is not true. 

"Between the bandits fighting for dominance, the power struggles going on with the corporations, the crossfire and trying to return Lalna to where he came from, on top of having a Siren tag along for the ride? I think I'm ready to retire," Rythian confesses. 

"Oh, you're nowhere near retirement age yet. You still have a lot of fight left in you," Ravs points out, nudging a mug towards Rythian. 

Rythian checks it's not one of Ravs' notorious moonshine concoctions before fishing an old flask out from the inside of his coat, uncapping it and pouring the contents of the mug inside. He has a feeling he'll be needing something to drink that's not water if he's going to be traveling with a wayward tourist and a Siren. He screws the cap back on and carefully puts the flask away in his coat.

"Are you just trying to make me feel better or are you being honest?" Rythian fixes a steady look on Ravs, who just offers an enigmatic smile in response. 

Rythian decides not to say anything further until Ravs leans forward to murmur to him in a low voice. "I will tell you though, that there's been an influx of interesting people who've turned up here in the past few days looking for information on other Vault Hunters and vaults."

"Tell me more," Rythian says, a feeling of dread beginning to well up inside of him.

"A odd trio who've promised to make it worth my while if I pointed them in your direction, a businessman asking for directions to Sanctuary, a short bearded man with a neurotic lanky guy who both seemed a bit green about Pandora. Oh, and a rather smug businessman who's with one of the mining powerhouse corporations."

"You didn't tell them anything, did you?" Rythian sucks in a sharp breath, looking rather concerned. 

"The trio? I thought you'd gone M.I.A. at the time, so no. I would have if I'd known where you were hiding out. You'll know it when you see them, they really stick out like a sore thumb in these parts."

"Traitor," Rythian mutters, though there's no malice in his tone, beginning to feel the worry bleed out of him, knowing that Ravs wouldn't intentionally give him away. "What about the others?"

"The businessman? Red and black outfit, blond with sunglasses, seemed to know his stuff. I don't think he was looking for the vaults, but he really didn't seem to know that Sanctuary has long since gone up there," Ravs points up at the roof, before continuing. "So I'm assuming it's a matter of time before he hears and becomes interested, like all the rest."

Rythian nods, making a mental list of people to look out for. "The bearded man and the neurotic guy are still around in this area. I think they want to make some money, judging by the loud argument they were having when getting a drink earlier. The bearded one complimented my drink, you know." Ravs smiles fondly at the memory, though Rythian doesn't push him to tell him more, letting him have his moment.

"I also have a fancy-looking business card from the last fellow. Have a gander," Ravs ducks down behind the counter before handing him a card with a circular coffee stain on the corner. "Sorry about the stain."

The card is white with fancy brown letters spelling out Ravs' last visitor's affiliations. SIPSCO. FINEST MINING COMPANY. CO-OWNED BY CEOS SJIN AND SIPS. "Can I have this?" Rythian asks, flipping it over to see if there's anything on the other side aside from a holographic logo. Nothing of interest. 

"Sure, not like I have any use for it," Ravs says. Rythian pockets it in his inventory, not sure if it'll come in useful or not. But he is however, going to do some digging for dirt on them.

"I'd like to rent a room," Rythian stifles a yawn with a hand, feeling like now would be a good time to rest, as well as well figure out how to deal with all these newcomers and how much of a threat they pose. He hands Ravs several bank notes in payment for the room, before tossing in a few more to cover Lalna and Nanosounds' mooching. 

Ravs takes the notes, counting them with a mean efficiency before stashing them somewhere (he tries not to think about the lack of pockets in Ravs' kilt to spare himself the mental imagery and succeeds). Rythian pushes away from the counter, standing up. Before he goes however, Ravs speaks up again.

"I also got a job for you, if you're willing to hear me out."

"Sure."

"Somebody wants a hand with wrangling some wildlife down in the caverns. Didn't quite catch what they paid or the specifics." Ravs pauses at Rythian's sudden look of disdain, chuckling at it. "I know you don't like going into a job blind," He says, his conversational tone adopting a coaxing note to it. 

"It's not urgent, but if you wanted something to get you and your companions acquainted with one another's modus operandi, it doesn't sound too hard," He points out. 

There's also the fact that he's counting on Rythian being a notorious meddler and can't leave well enough alone if he catches wind of somebody in desperate need of help. Rythian looks like he really wants to turn the job down, with Ravs silently observing his internal struggle of weighing up the pros and cons of the job. Ravs just pretends to wipe down the counter with a cloth, waiting for Rythian's eventual and inevitable decision, hiding a tiny smile to himself. 

"I'll do it." Ravs hears the resignation in Rythian's voice at accepting the job and the many consequences of doing so. "Can you pass on a message that we'll be there in a few hours?"

"Will do. Enjoy your siesta, Rythian."

"Thanks," Rythian says dryly, wondering if he's just going to keep digging his own grave in preparation for the future, heading upstairs to the room that Lalna and Nanosounds are asleep in. 

He almost envies their carefree natures before remembering that they haven't exactly spent that long on Pandora. He muses on whether or not they'll change, the longer they spend on this horrible planet. He ends up swearing to try to divert them onto a different course to spare them the same fate as him as he pulls up a wooden chair next to their sleeping forms. 

He closes his eyes after he's sure that nobody is going to barge in, guns blazing. Rythian ends up relishing the peace he has before having to head back into the fray with the two in tow, letting sleep overtake his consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and welcome to jackass is what lalna and nanosounds would have written for rythian’s last journal line if they found or knew about his journal, which is one of siins amazing contributions to the chapter so thanks for that gem! they also did a doodle for this chapter which is located over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/post/122501165614/the-escape-pod-extinguished-the-campfire-id).
> 
> the next chapter won’t be as long as this one. for the curious, this chapter roughly adds up to 15,472 words. that is a lot of words. i am aiming to keep future chapters to be about 3000 to about 5000 words! one of the reasons why this chapter was so long is that due to a thing called life, my writing is going to be very sporadic. i will be working on the next chapter, though very slowly. i also wanted to set the scene and have some of the main characters introduced. 
> 
> i thank you in advance for patience regarding long delay for the next chapter but in the meantime, please enjoy the rest of the blog (or have a reread of the first chapter and see how many puns and references to yogcast videos you can pick up on). i am working on a number of other things (like standalone chapters, for one) related to this au, so look forward to those. 
> 
> the ask and submit are also open on the [tumblr](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/), so feel free to go over there and ask stuff? DO IT BECAUSE THE SICK GUITAR SOLO ON THE PAGES COMPEL YOU!
> 
> the other thing i wanted to mention is that i haven’t written something fandom-related in a hilariously long time (years, i’m not kidding), so to have something like this as a result of mucking around with friends is amazing. i also want to thank you (as in you, the reader) for taking the time to read. if you actually did manage to get through this first chapter in one sitting and enjoyed it immensely (if you didn’t, well, i’m sure i’ll get there one day), then thank you even more for putting up with my rambling.


	2. Adverse Descent

Nanosounds' consciousness surfaces from a dreamless sleep. The white noise that'd been occupying her mind fades, only to be replaced by the sound of a shower. The shower from the sounds of it, is protesting vehemently at being used, the muffled shriek of metal and sounds of running water creeping under the crack of the door that is presumably the bathroom.

The other bed almost within her reach is empty, the occupant having long since disappeared, the only signs of their presence consisting of sheets thrown to one side. She's in an ordinary looking room with a single closed window facing out over the giant hole that's the town's center. 

A single chair near the door and a worn table are the only other furnishings. The roof is slanted, giving her the impression of someone who's taller than Rythian being forced to stoop in the room or hit their head on the ceiling. 

It's still day on Pandora, she realizes, wondering how long she'd been passed out. She doesn't remember falling asleep in a bed, the scratchy grey sheets once having been tucked up to her shoulders before she somehow managed to dislodge herself and shove aside the sheets while asleep. Much to her chagrin, her business suit is wrinkled and crumpled in places it shouldn't be.

Someone must have moved her upstairs out of consideration. She makes a mental note to investigate who to thank them and hauls herself out of bed, feeling the tender beginnings of a hangover starting to throb in her skull. She's still trying to figure out whether it's worth risking an Anshin syringe on a hangover when the door to the bathroom creaks open.

Lalna steps out, his goggles around his neck and a towel around his shoulders, looking considerably cleaner than he had been several hours ago. Steam drifts to the ceiling from the bathroom (of course bandits would have hot water provided they have power, she dully recalls). The blood that'd been matting his hair has been washed out. He's also dressed in a new shirt and jeans, wet hair dripping with water.

"Hello," He says brightly, which tells Nanosounds that he's not suffering from a hangover at all.

"What time is it?" She asks, sticking her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth.

"Mid afternoon. Don't worry, we were passed out for about two hours, tops," He says, adding the latter part after a beat.

Her worry about sleeping for too long dissipates. She stands up, moving past him into the bathroom. There's an improvised shower head (consisting of a bucket with holes punched in the bottom dangling under a pipe with a dial attached) with a curved metal roof segment serving as a shower door. There's a cracked mirror hanging from one of the walls via a length of thin wire held up a single nail sunken into the wall above the cracked sink.

There's even a clean, seemingly functional toilet also crammed into the space of a janitor's closet alongside the shower and sink. There's barely enough room for her to hold both her arms out with her fingertips almost touching the walls on either side of her, but it's far more than what she'd expected, really. Lalna stands behind her, looking at her with an amused look on his face.

"Rythian's gone off somewhere but he hasn't abandoned us."

"Thanks, I was worried he might have ditched us for being drunks at midday," She starts, then stops, suppressing a giggle when she'd remembered the chagrined look on his face when the two of them had decided to get drunk.

"He wouldn't ditch us," Lalna scoffs, drying off his blond head of hair and leaving it sticking up this way and that. He combs the fingers of one hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to get it looking neat but gives up, his hand falling to his side a moment later.

"And how long have you known him?"

"Several days now, which is actually quite a long time on this planet," He points out, moving to the window to examine his reflection in the window.

"Okay, I believe you. He hasn't ditched us."

"Look, I can see him outside, heading into the bar."

"I'm going to get cleaned up then and change into something else before he comes up here." She walks into the bathroom, closing the door and noting that there's a lock which still works. She then opens the door again. "If you try to peek, I'll melt your brain, so don't even try," Nanosounds warns him in a far too cheery tone.

Lalna's eyes widen. "What-why would you think that? That's not-" He falls silent, shifting to the far end of the room and shooting her a wary look. "I'll just stand over here until you're done, then," He finally says in a small voice.

Nanosounds almost feels guilty for warning him but after the fifteenth time somebody's tried to make an attempt on her life while she's sprucing up, she's honestly sick to death of calling a cleaning crew in to clean off chunks of people off her bathroom walls and tiles. And herself, to a lesser extent.

The water is actually almost warm and she closes her eyes, immersing herself in a world where she can forget about her worries (yes, Mother, I'm still tracking down more eridium mines) just for now. When she looks down, the water is no longer white, but almost a reddish-brown tint. She stays in the shower until the water returns to a clear white and the fingertips of both hands are beginning to wrinkle (the Siren tattoos are unmoving as usual).

Once she's made herself presentable, is dressed for the occasion and her hair isn't a giant mess from sleeping, Nanosounds opens the bathroom door. A troubled looking Rythian has settled in the chair near the door while a nonchalant Lalna's perched the edge of her bed, a screwdriver in his hands and fiddling with his goggles. He gives her a long look before giving her a small smile that tells her that he's since forgiven her. She notes to make it up to him at some point.

She sits on Lalna's former bed, bouncing up once before the bed stills and turns her attention to Rythian.

"Rythian, you look troubled," Nanosounds observes. Rythian blinks at her forwardness, straightening up and leaning forward in his chair.

"Are you sure you still want to be a Vault Hunter?" Rythian asks her, apparently having decided to mimic her forwardness. 

"Of course, why wouldn't I want to be?" Nanosounds tilts her head to the side, puzzled by his concern and line of questioning. She would have been prepared to argue with him if it hadn't been for the fact that she knows that he had very good reason to be worried, considering his explanations several hours ago.

"You'll get shot at more than you think, possibly stabbed, burned, almost drown, suffer heatstroke, be slagged, have acid hit you when your shield's down, become dehydrated, starve, run out of money at the worst possible time, almost freeze to death, have your heart stop when you're electrocuted by shock damage, be chased by starving hordes of wildlife, get lost even when you're sure of where you're going and the vaults may not even exist; are you sure you still want to be a Vault Hunter?" Rythian finally stops, his chest heaving after having delivered what'd apparently weighing heavily on his mind. This voice hadn't shifted from a low, serious tone throughout his lengthy briefing.

"Yes," Nanosounds answer is immediate and without even a hint of doubt in it, to let him know that she's not going to change her mind anytime soon. 

She didn't even have to think for long about the consequences of becoming a Vault Hunter (though it's sad to say that she's experienced her fair share of troubles prior to arriving on Pandora, given her heritage). 

Her answer and resolve appear to have satisfied him, though he's still clearly troubled by one other person in the room.

Lalna looks up when he feels both their gazes on him, pausing in his tinkering to raise a quizzical eyebrow at them.

"Yeah, I'm in," He says, as if they're discussing the weather. "I know what I'm getting into," Lalna adds a second later, just to prove that he'd been listening.

Rythian appears to accept both their answers without any more indication of further dissuading them, as if he trusts them to hold themselves to their word. He looks away from the both of them.

There is so much that they don't know about that he can't divulge, simply due to the nature of the details. They surface from the back of his mind, heavy and insistent, wanting to be told but he's not so weak-willed or so loose tongued. 

He hopes they'll never have to go through his ordeals and emerge as completely different people without a scrap of humanity left in them (as he's seen so many do); Rythian every so gently breaks that line of thought in half (as they need him) and returns to the present.

"We have a job waiting for us." He hesitates on the word 'we' just for a moment, as if he's not used to the concept of team or having others tag along with him. Nanosounds lets it slide because she's been in his position before, giving him her undivided attention. Lalna's even stopped tinkering, putting away the screwdriver to listen, the goggles sliding in place on his forehead.

"Whereabouts?" She asks. She hasn't exactly filled out her map of these parts, eager for more sights and the chance to explore.

"Caustic Caverns. We're going to wrangle some wildlife." Rythian rises, leaving the room. They follow him, curious about the wildlife they're wrangling, who and why would anybody hire them to do such a job?

When they enter the empty bar, Ravs is at the counter, his gaze lingering on the door before he turns around at their approach. He is silent, his expression contemplative. There's an empty glass on the counter in front of him (too far from him for him to have been the one drinking). After a moment, he picks it up and puts it behind the counter, looking as if he's deep in thought until the sounds of the stairs creak behind him. Ravs whirls around, pushing a smile of recognition onto his face that doesn't seem at all forced.

"Good afternoon! It's nice to see you lot finally up and about." Ravs waves them over, giving them a casual once-over before shooting Nanosounds and Lalna a an expression midway between pleased and expectant. "So, how was the moonshine?"

"It was good. Really good," Lalna volunteers, a fond smile appearing on his face. "I would definitely drink it again."

"Not too bad, since I don't have that much of a hangover," Nanosounds chimes in. Ravs ducks down under the counter before popping up again, handing her a single sealed pill. He pours her a glass of water, pushing it across the counter towards her. She drinks half the water and pops the pill. "Thanks," She says, finishing off the rest of the glass. It joins its companion behind the counter. 

"Ravs, you can pick their brains later. We need you to open the gate to the Caustic Caverns," Rythian interrupts before Ravs can get another word in edgewise. Ravs heaves a dramatic, disappointed sigh complete with the slumping of his shoulders and matching look, causing Rythian to roll his eyes. Regardless, Ravs steps out from behind the counter, dangling a set of keys from his fingers a moment later.

Ravs leads them out of the bar (only pausing to lock the bar's front door) and around the back towards a gate barring entry to a lift. Ravs opens the gate with one of the keys, holding it open so they can all pile onto the lift, which creaks precariously but bears their combined weight without further protest.

Ravs punches the lift button and the lift descends to the lower levels of Sanctuary Hole. They head through a building with blue power conduits crackling and humming inside of it. The electricity in the air causes Lalna's hair to stand on end, earning a laugh from everyone but Rythian. They reach a lift that's dangling right above the caverns.

Lalna tries not to look down at the drop, his stomach churning nervously at how far they're up and how long it would take for someone to fall before hitting the bottom. He steps onto the lift as if expecting it to drop without prior warning but the metal grill underneath his feet remains solid and unmoving.

Before Rythian can hit the button to descend, Ravs steps onto the lift with them. "Hold it, I forgot to tell you something!"

"You finally moved your ECHO?" Rythian asks, sounding hopeful. Behind him, Nanosounds and Lalna burst out laughing.

Ravs makes a derisive sound, rolling his eyes at Rythian. "In your dreams, Rythian."

"Fair enough," Rythian concedes, unable to suppress a grin under his mask. "You were saying?"

"Before you came downstairs, you just missed your contact who'd come up here to fetch you but they had to rush back down. Something about leaving her unsupervised for too long," Ravs says.

"There are two contacts now?" Rythian frowns at this new development. 

"They didn't ECHO you the details?" Ravs shakes his head, looking like he's about to say something else, but appears to stop himself from doing so. "Our acquaintance acquired an assistant a while back. Anyways, good luck and ECHO me when you're coming back up so I can open the gate." Ravs steps off the lift, finally letting Rythian hit the button.

"Thanks, Ravs," Rythian says after a pause as the lift lurches into motion and causing Lalna to latch onto the nearest handrail. 

"Don't let the varkids sting you." Ravs watches them descend into the darkness, which soon swallows them up. None of them look up at Ravs. 

"Wait, why, will we die if we get stung?" Lalna whirls around to throw a worried look at Rythian and Nanosounds.

"No, it just really hurts a lot, that's all," Nanosounds tells him, though it's hardly comforting for him to know that.

\--

Lalna hadn't been expecting too much from a cavern with such a name. He finally sees why it's called the 'Caustic Caverns', because when the lift is still descending, he can see an ocean of bright neon green acid, giant bubbles forming and popping in the distance before rocky walls rise to block the view. 

It would have been awesome if they weren't trapped in a dark, dank hole with acid that could eat away through any parts of their body if they weren't careful. And varkids. The lift stops at the bottom and they step off of it.

"Welcome to the Caustic Caverns," Rythian says dryly with a sweep of his arm.

"Does it always smell this damp?" Lalna wrinkles his nose. Nanosouds is already peering at the rusted lockers fringing the walls around them. Both their eyes are slowly adjusting to the semi-darkness.

"You won't even notice it soon," Nanosounds reassures him. "Which way are we going?" She directs this at Rythian.

"There's only one way out and it's through that door." Rythian points to a giant angular door blocking their way. "By the way, there are varkids beyond the door. So when I open the door, you're going to open fire on them. You can use whatever guns you like so long as you don't shoot me or shoot each other by accident."

Lalna and Nanosounds share an excited and slightly nervous look, before reaching into their respective inventories to fish out their guns of choice and to check that their shields are in place and fully charged. Lalna opts for his usual, a Maliwan SMG with shock damage, hefting its familiar weight in his hands, peering down the sights and aiming at the door. He spares a glance over at Nanosounds who's since pulled out a Dahl SMG, the likes of which he's only ever heard rumors on the ECHOnet.

"Is that E-tech?" He asks her, practically enraptured by the beautiful, deadly weapon in her hands.

"Yes, I'm just testing this for the folks at R&D," She says, looking pleased by his awe.

"You have got to let me see that in more detail sometime," is all that Lalna can say to her before he hears Rythian grunt and start turning the door mechanism, the door creaking and groaning as it begins to part. The silence is replaced by the sounds of buzzing insect wings, chirping and legs skittering about on the ground before a varkid darts through the gap and goes straight for Rythian.

Rythiain looks up, a shotgun already in his hand. He pulls the trigger, the varkid falling to the ground with the splatter of insect guts dislodged by the multiple rounds, blood splattering the ground around it. Rythian keeps turning the wheel with his free hand as flashes of yellow and orange gather around at the door's widening gap, his other hand brandishing his shotgun.

Lalna and Nanosounds both open fire as the varkids trickle in, the blue and green rounds of their SMGs mingling and searing holes in varkid hides and bodies, causing them to shriek, scatter and die. The smell of burnt varkids (not that either of them can put it into words) mingles with the smell of the dampness, becoming stronger with every burning varkid. Rythian doesn't completely open the door, leaving a gap large enough for them to slide through one at a time.

When there's no more varkids crying beyond the door, Lalna and Nanosounds pop the empty rounds from their SMGs and reload, feeling rather proud that they didn't let another one get though.

"Well, that was fun," Nanosounds concludes, looking more excited than either of them have ever seen her (compared to when she'd asked to tag along, at any rate).

"I have no idea how the contact managed to get past the varkids up to Sanctuary Hole, come back down, sneak through all that again and without opening the door or using the lift," Rythian mutters, reloading his shotgun before he slides through the gap in the door.

Lalna nudges a dead varkid with his boot, fascinated and just a touch worried at what they've gotten themselves into. Up close, he can see what Ravs and Nanosounds warned him about in regards to the stinger, a massive sharp point hanging off the end of the varkid's abdomen or head (it's hard to tell since he's not all that familiar with varkid anatomy).

After fighting through several more varkid infestations (Nanosounds and Lalna both disgusted at the metamorphosis of adult sized varkids from pods), they head deeper into the caverns. The light above them lights up their way, proving bright despite the time ticking by and counting down to night. 

Rythian checks the coordinates as per the job briefing until he's sure that their destination is right in front of them. There's a giant building that appears to have been recently cleared of varkid and thresher infestations. The makeshift windows in the concrete walls house closed metal shutters. It looks cleaner and slightly more foreboding than Rythian remembers, from the last time he'd been down in the caverns.

Lalna kicks a the remains of a varkid hive in boredom out of the corner of his eye. Rythian turns his head to shout at him because the hive might not be empty-a round narrowly whizzes past his head, the crack of a sniper rifle echoing in the distance as the shot embeds itself in the ground behind him. 

Rythian reacts by pulling out his own sniper rifle, hefting its sudden weight into in his hands and dives for cover behind a long abandoned truck, peering down the sights to try to spot the shooter.

He zooms in on a peculiar patch that shifts in the shadows of the building's roof, the metallic glint of a sniper rifle's barrel cluing him in to the shooter's location between two pillars. 

Nanosounds taps his shoulder before he can retaliate though, because there's a red-headed figure who's just burst through the front door, shouting up at the rooftop at the top of her voice.

"It's okay, they're Vault Hunters! They're friendly, so please don't shoot any of their brains out! Unless you've already done so in which case, I'm sorry and we'll call a doctor!" The last part is directed towards them and Rythian lowers the rifle to blink at the figure rushing across the clearing towards them.

"Zoeya? Since when did you move into the caverns?" The figure stops in front of Rythian, breathing heavily and looking up at him, her freckled face breaking out into an expression of recognition.

"Rythian! It's good to see you again, I couldn't ECHO you to tell you that I'd moved because my last lab was set on fire by some bandits," Zoeya stops to give a nervous, albeit pleased laugh, tucking in a strand of brown hair behind her ear and almost dislodging the pencil hidden there.

"I barely got out with my stuff and then my new assistant disappeared for a while to have some stern words with the bandits about their behavior and then we moved down here! Also, Ravs told me he didn't know where you were and you didn't answer your ECHO," She finishes to catch her breath, giving him an expectant look.

Rythian takes all this new information in without a word. His heart's beginning to recover from the fact that he'd nearly just had a round pass straight through his head. It's also because Zoeya's new assistant might not be what she assumes they are.

He doesn't even know where to start, what with Zoeya narrowly escaping death, her assistant going to have stern words with bandits (which equates to killing every single bandit involved though he's not about to correct her assumption), and the fact that she's moved, after all the work to set her up in someplace safe.

"Are you the person who's hired us to wrangle some wildlife for you?" Thank Nanosounds, because she pops up at his side, peering at Zoeya with interest and saving him the trouble of having to form a reply that isn't about her narrow escape from death or something coming off as insensitive. 

"We're new Vault Hunters. Rythian's taken us under his wing for the time being." She shoots Zoeya a cheerful smile, to which Zoeya enthusiastically returns, her green eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Nice to meet you and Rythian, you didn't tell me you've made friends!" She gathers up both of Nanosounds' hands, pumping them up and down in an energetic and chaotic handshake, causing Nanosounds' gun to fall out of her hands and vanish. Nanosounds appears to be approving of her, giving Rythian a look that says just as much. 

Rythian opens his mouth then closes it, refraining from saying that they're not his friends, they're just people who wanted to shoot him before tagging along, because it's not as if he's got a sign with 'Vault Hunting 101' anywhere on him, has he? 

What he says instead is, "This is Nanosounds and the one hiding behind the shipping container is Lalna."

Lalna sticks out his left hand to wave at Zoeya from behind the container. "I'm not hiding, I'm taking cover!"

"It's okay, you can come out now, I've already told them off so they won't shoot at you again now that we know that you're friendly since you're with Rythian." Zoeya gestures to the rooftop. "I'll give you the tour and introduce you to my new assistant."

"Please do," Rythian says, very curious about her new assistant as Lalna steps out, throwing a cautious look at the roof.

The building is more like a safe house, considering the heavy locking mechanisms that fall into place once they're all inside. Zoeya apparently doesn't notice their discomfort at being locked in (more to do with the fact that they expected a simpler building, not a fortress) and hustles them into the room that's apparently the kitchen. 

She busies herself with a dented kettle and mugs (how does she have so many), leaving the kettle to boil before taking a seat at the metallic bench serving as the kitchen table.

Rythian leans against one of the walls, letting Nanosounds and Lalna take up the remaining two seats.

"What kind of wildlife are we wrangling today?" Rythian asks, the worst possibilities running through his mind, never mind that he knows that nobody else would have accepted the job or probably disappointed her at their meager attempts. 

"Oh, not threshers." Rythian lets out a relieved sigh. "Crystalisks!" He looks at her with a mild expression of horror as she presses a button on the table, a hologram on the table flickering into life. The hologram shows a moving angular creature with a tough leather hide bearing a crystal-studded back balancing on three equally crystal-studded stumpy legs.

Nanosounds and Lalna both look at each other, then back at the hologram. Lalna reaches out to flick the hologram to one side, watching it spin, the creature roaring silently and stamping all three feet, spikes flying out of its back. Nanosounds thinks it's rather lovely, minus the spikes and the pending pain. No wonder why Ravs had wished them good luck. She makes a mental note to ask Rythian to run potential jobs by them in the future. 

"Are you serious?" Rythian asks, unsure if he's just heard correctly.

"Yep!" Zoeya confirms, not at all fazed by their horror.

"Please tell me you don't want us to capture one."

"No, no, nothing like that, I just want you to sedate one and hold it down while I get a sample from its back," Zoeya rattles off without stopping for breath. "See, I would get my trusty assistant to do it for me but someone has to hold off the threshers since they keep interfering with collection attempts."

"I...okay." Rythian concedes after a moment of thought. "Can you even sedate them?"

"I had my assistant try out some tranquilizers the other day on some unsuspecting crystalisks and report the aftereffects," She sounds somewhat guilty at resorting to such dirty tricks before continuing with her explanation, "It worked beautifully after I adjusted the dose a couple of times so that they didn't pass out for too long or wake up so soon."

Her assistant chooses to walk in at that moment, a sniper rifle slung over their back, their gaze snapping to Rythian. They're dressed in a dark green snow jacket, showing no hint of skin as if dressed for the cold seasons on Pandora. There are layers upon layers of similarly colored cloth covering their face, the only area on their face that the cloth doesn't cover being their eyes, which are concealed by tinted snow goggles.

Rythian feels an appraising look on him. He keeps his face neutral.

"Teep! Teep, this is Rythian, Nanosounds and Lalna." Zoeya springs up from her chair to come around to them, her height barely coming up to her assistant and Rythian's shoulders. "Rythian, Nanosounds and Lalna, this is Teep. They've been with me for several months now and they're amazing."

Teep just gives a modest shake of their head at Zoeya's praise, moving to pour them all tea from the kettle that's silently huffing out steam. Nanosounds and Lalna try not to stare too much though, thanking Teep as they hand over the mugs.

"Since Rythian knows how I run this place but you guys don't, I'll give you a tour right now before all the animals fall asleep so you can say hi," Zoeya takes both of Nanosounds and Lalna's elbows, half-dragging, half-coaxing them through another door as they try to not drop their mugs of tea.

"And so Rythian and Teep can have their tea in peace." So Teep can also apologize is what they actually hear. 

Rythian doesn't move to take the last mug. Teep puts down their own mug, apparently not intent on having any of it while Rythian's in the room. Rythian shares that sentiment, though he moves so that he's no longer leaning on the wall but standing in front of Teep. They're almost eye to eye, the atmosphere tense between them.

He has to be careful, because he doesn't know what to expect from someone who's always been unpredictable considering their mutual history. Rythian almost draws a gun when Teep's hand moves.

Teep just extends a gloved hand out, the palm of which has a dried piece of grey flesh sitting atop it. They extend their palm out to Rythian, who just stares at their hand before his eyes flick upwards to Teep's unreadable face. It's almost as if they expect him to take it. Rythian reluctantly plucks the piece of dried skag meat out of their hand, suspicious of the gesture.

"Are you saying sorry?" Rythian breaks the silence, tilting his head to examine the dried jerky. Teep doesn't deign to answer, rolling their shoulders back as if to say 'I don't know, I could be', before handing him another piece of skag jerky. And another. And another, until Rythian has about ten of them stored in his inventory as future food for thought.

"Okay, okay, I accept your apology," Rythian just lets out a low, exasperated chuckle, the tense atmosphere dissolving between them, an air of comfortable familiarity replacing it. Teep seems to consider him for a moment, then hands him one more piece of jerky as an afterthought.

"Just how many do you you have on you?" If Teep is bothered by Rythian's incredulous tone, they don't show it, simply shrugging again before leaving the room with one of the mugs. He has the impression that Teep is enjoying themself, giving him the image of far too many sharp teeth grinning at him in amusement from behind the layers of cloth. That and there's a smug air surrounding Teep as they leave the room.

Rythian sighs, checking that nobody's around before he pulls down his mask to take a bite out of the jerky. His teeth aren't really meant for such tough, dried out meat. It takes him considerable effort to chew it into smaller, digestible chunks before he swallows, washing down the saltiness and bitter tang with tea.

He stores the rest of the jerky for later, pulling up his mask before moving to find Zoeya and her tourists, following Teep through the corridors. 

\--

Zoeya's base of operations consists of several rooms. She explains the purpose of each room as she leads them through the building, her enthusiasm never faltering.

"We settled here because there's no bandits because of the gate Ravs put up and there's just acid and wildlife to keep us company, which is perfect!"

"This is the dissection room, which is where Teep brings me roadkill or dead samples that they find and I open them up to see what the animals died of."

"This is the living room. Well, it's more my living room since Teep doesn't really hang out here a lot."

"Welcome back to the kitchen, where is where I like to find out out what's cooking, good lookings, here, have some more tea!"

"This is the observatory where I can open the window to watch the spiderants below. If you ignore the runoff from Dahl that's somehow still running and causing pollution that's acidifying the crap out of the water, it's actually quite relaxing to watch the spiderants do their thing."

"This is my research room, which doubles as my bedroom! This is where I develop pictures so I can pick out the ones that look good for my book. So if you take any cool pictures, send them to me and I'll add it. Your name also gets put down as contributers in the back!"

"Bathroom. There's no hot water but it works, so that's what really matters!"

"Teep, can I please show them your room? This is Teep's room. It's really neat compared to my room."

"And this is the animal room!"

Both Nanosounds and Lalna exclaim with delight at the large room. One of the sides has spacious cages stacked against it, a few containing animals inside of them. Nanosouds crouches beside one of the cages housing a small skag. It stops pacing and peers at her, the bifurcated jaw parting to let a long pink tongue loll out as it apparently sniffs her.

"Why are they so docile?" Lalna inquires, tickled pink by the lack of murderous intent compared to the ones that had chased the truck when it'd been just Rythian and him on the road. He mimics Zoeya when she reaches through the cage bars to pet the skag, which flops onto its side so they can rub its belly.

"So long as you don't have guns out and be nice, they're apparently more than happy to let you move them elsewhere. Don't worry, I'll put them back where they came from once I'm done sketching them."

Behind them, Teep and Rythian share a knowing look in that it's only half the truth in domesticating Pandora's wildlife or attempts to do so. 

\--

"There doesn't seem to be any other vault hunters left on Pandora since they seem to have left. Probably opened all the vaults here, right, Rythian?"

Rythian offers an inattentive nod in response, far too busy watching his step to avoid any acid runoffs to truly confirm her query. Teep throws pebbles into the acid every now and then, causing any bubbles that spring up to burst. Lalna starts a bubble popping competition with Teep. So far, Teep never misses their throw while Lalna overshoots his or his rocks fall short of hitting any bubbles, much to this consternation.

"Is that a crystalisk?" Nanosounds peers into the distance. Zoeya glances in the direction she's looking.

"Yep, there's a lone crystalisk. Teep is going to do their thing while you guys go and sedate it." Zoeya proceeds to hand Rythian a modified Jakob sniper rifle and several large tranquilizer rounds from her inventory.

"What about you?" Nanosounds asks. 

"Me? I'm going to get my sample collection tubes and stuff ready. Good luck!" Zoeya darts behind a rock, disappearing from their view. 

Teep walks off behind some ruins, eventually popping up as a small green dot above their heads, the barrel of their sniper rifle glinting in the light. Rythian, Lalna and Nanosounds take one look at the crystalisk and gulp. It towers up over their heads, crystalline shell glinting, each point of their hide sharp. 

"You guys distract it," Rythian tells them after observing the crystalisk hobble about on its three legs. 

"And how do we distract it?" Lalna asks, not at all nervous, never quite taking his eyes off it as if it'll take a bite out of him when he's not looking (does it even have teeth?). 

"They're bulletproof. Just shoot at it until it turns and shows me its belly," Rythian informs him with the air somebody who is very much used to this sort of thing happening. 

"We can do that," Nanosounds says slowly, Lalna nodding in agreement, the two of them trusting Rythian's words. They watch him load the rifle with a single round, the others going into one of the pouches on his belt. He looks down the sights, seemingly satisfied with it because he turns to them.

"You'll be fine," Rythian says in a sympathetic tone before adding, "Just don't run into the acid when your shield's down."

Nanosounds and Lalna start when they hear Teep's echoing gunshots above their heads, knowing at that moment that they're already hard at work keeping threshers from interfering. Their stalling coming to an end, they turn to the crystalisk. Rythian takes up a position behind them, the rifle already trained on the creature.

The crystalisk looks indifferent to their approach, though their head swivels to fix Nanosounds with an intense look, the crystals on its back beginning to quiver like a dog raising its hackles. She swallows, reaching slowly for her gun, unsure if a sudden movement will set it off.

The stare off lasts for several tense seconds before bright blue gunshots peppers its sides, sending rock fragments and sparks flying off one side of the crystalline mass on its back. The crystalisk tears its glance away from her, swiveling around to launch spikes off its back at Lalna, who lets out a whoop of success at distracting it before diving behind a rock, the spikes embedding themselves in the rock's surface. She can hear him scrambling to reload and takes the chance.

Nanosounds whips out her SMG, firing a volley of shots that glance off its hide, the acid from her shots fizzling uselessly into thin air. The crystalisk turns to her and she ninja rolls off to the side behind cover, hearing the thud of spikes slam into the spot she'd been standing on several seconds ago. She peeks out to see Lalna luring it away, spikes trailing on the ground after him as the creature misses.

It lets out a low rumble of frustration, stomping two of its three feet and continuing to fire after him. Right when Lalna is forced to reload mid-run and having to slow down to to do so, Nanosounds darts out and picks up where he'd left off before the creature can fire at him and actually hit him.

The spikes glance off her shield when she fails to move out of the way due her sudden ambush, though her shield is still holding firm. She and Lalna run circles around the creature until she spies a small metallic object embed into the fleshy underside of its belly.

The creature lets out a rumble of pain before beginning to sway on the spot. Thirty seconds later, its legs give way under it, the ground under her feet shaking with the impact. If it had visible eyes, Nanosounds is sure they would have been closed upon inspection. 

Rythian walks up to them still holding the tranquilizer rifle, looking somewhat surprised. "I take that back. Looks like Zoeya's right in that they can be sedated."

"See, I told you guys it would work!" Zoeya creeps out from behind her hiding spot, pulling out a series of test tubes, a chisel, file and test tube stoppers from her inventory once she's crouched beside the seemingly silent snoring crystalisk.

Rythian reloads the rifle on the occasion that Zoeya is actually wrong about the dose. The sounds of Teep's sniper rifle at work have long since stopped, though Rythian doesn't doubt that Teep is still perched atop the ruins and keeping an eye on them and their surroundings.

The four of them leave the creature to doze once Zoeya's got her sample, though Zoeya turns to them once they're a safe distance away.

"Great, now if you could just sedate a few more crystalisks, that would be fantastic!" The three simultaneous groans doesn't even dent her enthusiasm as she bounces ahead of them to find more lone crystalisks for them to repeat the entire process.

\--

Given that they've wiped out the local varkid population surrounding the giant door to the lift back up, there's no reason for Teep to escort them back to the lift. Lalna continues their acid bubble popping competition with Nanosounds joining in. Rythian declines to join, preferring to watch instead.

It's a noisy trip back, considering that Teep consistently beats the two of them hands down even if they join forces to combine their score. Rythian is under the assumption that Zoeya had minor worries about them returning to Sanctuary Hole without an armed escort and had probably wheedled Teep into going with them. 

Teep gives an acknowledging nod when they've piled onto the lift, the sun beginning to set above them. Teep signs at them that they'll ECHO Ravs in advance to spare them the trouble. Rythian thanks them and the two give one another similar searching looks, with Lalna grumbling about losing the competition in the background. Nanosounds just tells Lalna 'not to be a sore loser'.

"Don't die," Teep signs at Rythian.

"You too," Rythian says, though that earns him a cursory shrug as if Teep is above death or is dismissing Rythian's sentiment. The darkness swallows up Teep once the lift reaches a certain height. Lalna and Nanosounds wince at the light, blinking back tears as they come back up into Sanctuary Hole and climb onto the next lift until they've reached ground level.

Ravs is standing there already, holding the gate open.

"I see the mission was a fantastic success," He observes, locking the gate once they've all passed through.

"Oh, it was fun," Nanosounds says, a note of relish in her tone. It sends a shiver down Rythian's spine, that note, because there is so much more behind it that he's all too familiar with. He pretends otherwise, just shaking his head at her and Ravs' approving chuckle. 

Zoeya had paid them in copious amounts of tea and money. All in all, it had been a rather successful job that Lalna and Nanosounds could truly be proud of completing. Their first group job hadn't quite ended in casualties (save for all the varkids and threshers), which Rythian supposes contributes to the success.

Ravs walks behind the counter, his expression serious. "I have a job for you. It's an emergency."

"What is it?" Rythian puts down his glass, looking at Ravs.

"I got a friend who lives in a place called Oasis. They've run out of alcohol." Ravs looks genuinely upset as if he can't imagine such a thing happening in Sanctuary Hole, let alone in Oasis. Lalna ducks down behind the counter to hastily turn his laughter into a cough when it's apparent that Ravs is serious. Nanosounds shoots Lalna a withering look.

"Ravs, running out of alcohol does not constitute an emergency," Rythian says in a tone of strained patience.

"But what will they drink?" Ravs asks as he frowns at him.

"Water, for one thing," Rythian replies, trying not to sound sarcastic and failing horribly.

"You misunderstand me, Rythian," Ravs says as he leans forward, "Oasis needs alcohol like it needs water. And I promised my friend I'd always supply alcohol, so long as they don't source it from anywhere else."

"Wait, so this is less out of concern for the people and more about business?" Nanosounds asks, unsure of whether to laugh or not for fear of upsetting Ravs.

"Well, if I don't get them their alcohol on time, they get alcohol from another bartender," Ravs pauses to see if they're all listening before continuing, "And so, I renegade on my end of the agreement and start building pools in Sanctuary Hole. And nobody wants to see either place go up in flames then. Do you see why I'm worried now?" Ravs drawls as if it's all more clearer to them.

"Yes," Lalna mimics his drawl, though Nanosounds kicks him in the knee under the counter. He stifles a yelp, glaring at her before he sees she's biting her lip in an attempt to remain serious.

"And you want us to deliver this alcohol?" Rythian gives Ravs a weary look as if he regrets asking in the first place.

"I knew it was a good idea to let you drink here in the first place," Ravs says, his expression switching to one of utmost gratitude so fast it's almost unnerving. 

"Why can't you deliver it yourself?" Lalna points out.

"Well, I would but I can't leave this bar and place undefended for more than a few days without bandits trying to move in again. That'd be bad for business and the people living here."

"Can we Fast Travel?" Nanosounds asks. 

"Unless you can carry the barrels, which I doubt you'd be able to do since you're not me, so no." Nanosounds is about to point out that she probably could until she spies Lalna's look of concentration as if he's consulting his HUD. 

Lalna looks up at Ravs. "What if you or Rythian give us the Fast Travel codes to Oasis and we Fast Travel from Three Horns with the barrels until they're stacked up on the other end on a truck and we drive from there? Since Rythian's apparently been there before."

Ravs blinks before flashing him a brilliant smile. "That would work! I wouldn't even have to leave Sanctuary Hole for that long to help you stack up the barrels on the other end."

"You mean you've always made Rythian drive that far without Fast Travel? You've never thought about doing it this way?" Lalna is almost afraid to look at Rythian, who has his head in his hands on the counter.

"I'm so sorry," Ravs says while shooting a dawning look of horrible realization at Rythian, who is dead silent. Ravs pours Rythian a drink, before murmuring to Nanosounds and Lalna, "It's fine. He'll get over it." Ravs pauses, though sounds unsure once he adds, "I think."

"Personally, I think he's just had a tiring day coordinating us on the job and would like to retire in one of your rooms," Nanosounds steps towards Rythian, gently taking him by the elbow with one tattooed hand. "He almost got shot in the head by Teep from afar too, so..."

Rythian just grumbles something about 'the nerve of some people' under his breath but lets himself get steered towards the stairs by Nanosounds while still holding his drink. Ravs doesn't doubt for one second that once Rythian is alone, he'll probably down the whole thing in one go so he can pass out despite hating being drunk. For once, he is glad his drinks have such a potent effect.

The look on Ravs face at that moment is true gratitude at Nanosounds' intervention (and he wonders if all Sirens are as kind as this one is).

"Pick two of the rooms upstairs to crash in and I'll let my friend know we'll be on our way," is all that he says before Nanosounds whisks Rythian upstairs before Rythian can respond to Ravs. 

Lalna brings up the rear after Ravs dismisses him with a wave of his hand while reaching for his ECHO to presumably contact his Oasis friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked teep and zoeya's introductions! wouldn't you like to know how they met? just so you know, that's actually part of an upcoming standalone chapter, but i'd love to hear your theories anyway.
> 
> the real mystery here is how did teep get up to sanctuary hole? teep bypassed the lift and the gate entirely before making it back down in time to get ready to almost shoot rythian in the head. the answer? i don't know either. also, there was no fast travel involved since the nearest fast travel station is at three horns given how in borderlands 2, the fast travel station was uprooted with sanctuary.
> 
> i also maaaayyyyy have lied about how long the potential chapters are. this one is actually about 7700 or so words in length. still, i'm very pleased about how long this one turned out in comparison to the first one. 
> 
> there is a corresponding chapter doodle is located over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/post/123465149944/lalna-waving-at-zoeya-while-hes-taking-cover), drawn by siins.
> 
> as usual, please let me know if you have any comments, questions, feedback or see any glaring typos or etc. via the ask box on the tumblr or in the comments here!


	3. Thirst No More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before you read this chapter, just know that dissociation is briefly experienced by lalna during his fast travel experience. it only ever pops up in the first part, but if you feel at any point that you need to stop reading due to being triggered, please do so and take care of yourself. there are some resources [here](http://mentalillnessmouse.tumblr.com/post/87751323494/resource-list-for-anxiety-panic-and-dissociation), [here](http://disintegratedsanity.tumblr.com/post/38585587521/panic-and-anxiety-information-and-resources-master) and [here](http://reasonstohide.tumblr.com/post/17168508611/dissociation-tips-checking-in) if that may help.
> 
> given the nature of borderlands, there is also the graphic depiction of people being shot and some mild body horror in this chapter. while it’s not overly explicit, please take care when reading.

Rythian says nothing to Ravs. There's an air of having forgiven (but not forgotten) between the two once Rythian's woken up from his nap with a mild hangover. He refuses to take anything for it though, joining the others for a meal downstairs.

Lalna gets the impression they're all thankful for Nanosounds well-timed intervention and excellent social graces. Granted, she's still a Siren and could probably melt his brain with a single thought, but he accepts her for who she is.

Their short meal consists of grilled skag meat and bread from Ravs' stock to spare Rythian's rations. Lalna imagines the meat being anything but skag meat. He manages to keep it down despite the taste still lingering long after he's downed two glasses of water and half a bottle or rakk ale (almost just as bad in taste but easier on his taste buds). He knows he can't afford to be a picky eater when Rythian's warning about starving still sticks out in his mind. 

Once they've all tossed their empty plates in the sink, Ravs corrals five wooden barrels of his choosing from the back room outside. Lalna can hear liquid sloshing about inside. They each roll one through Sanctuary Hole until they're all outside of the gates leading into the town. Rythian unlocks his truck and climbs in, backing it until it's closer to them.

"So, sleep well, Rythian?" Lalna decides to ask while he's struggling to haul his barrel upright for Nanosounds and Ravs to load up onto the back of the truck. Rythian leans out of the driver's seat, his gaze steady. 

Lalna raises both of his currently empty hands to indicate no malice in his query and putting on his best innocent expression. Nanosounds steals his barrel and tosses with ease it to Ravs, who adds it to the rest. 

After a long beat where Lalna suspects the hangover is affecting Rythian more than he's really letting on, Rythian replies, "I slept fine." 

Rythian doesn't mention waking up a few times to the feeling being watched, though the room had been empty since Lalna and Nanosounds had picked another room to hang out in.

"Maybe you should let somebody else drive for once?" Rythian shakes his head.

"I'll be fine," Rythian insists, until Ravs hops off the back of the truck, dusting off his hands since the barrels are securely tied in place. He saunters over to Rythian, leaning against the truck. Nanosounds watches them all from the turret seat, both her hands propping up her face.

"Rythian, Lalna has a point. Please let somebody else drive before you also become responsible for the downfall of Sanctuary Hole and Oasis in one fell move should anything happen to the barrels," Ravs says with a grin that doesn't match his coaxing tone of voice.

Rythian looks like he's about to argue. He proceeds to climb out of the driver's seat through the top and hops off the front of the truck. "Fine, but Nanosounds is driving."

At this, Nanosounds lets out a whoop of joy, rolling out of the turret and clambering into the driver's seat, wriggling about until she's comfortable and with a mad glint in her eyes. 

"What?! Why Nanosounds?" Both Ravs and Lalna exclaim, both their faces expressing dismay. 

"One, I let Ravs drive once and that was an experience I never want to sit through again," Rythian lists, counting off his fingers, "Two, it's my technical and three, I think we should wait until we don't have precious cargo before letting Lalna even attempt driving," Rythian informs them dryly, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting their looks with a grumpy expression. 

"So Rythian, I'm your safest bet?" Nanosounds sounds far too pleased with Rythian's decision, though Lalna shoots her a look of envy. She shrugs as if she has no choice in the matter, though Lalna and Ravs know otherwise.

"My driving isn't even that bad!" Ravs pauses to give Rythian a thoughtful look before adding, "Okay, I may have driven us off a cliff without warning you in advance but it was a shortcut!"

"My point exactly," Rythian responds.

Lalna wants to know the entire story given how entertaining it sounds but he highly doubts that it's a good time to ask about it. "I'm pretty sure my headaches from the concussion are gone, so maybe I can drive?"

"Maybe later," Rythian says, though he clambers onto the back of the truck and into the turret seat, indicating that the conversation is over. Ravs just gives Lalna a sympathetic look, before climbing into the back in the only spot that's not taken up by the barrels. 

"Hey, wait a second," Lalna says as Nanosounds starts up the truck with a rumble, "Where am I sitting?"

"You're sitting on top of the barrels," Ravs says as if it's obvious.

"There's no room." Lalna throws a skeptical look at Ravs.

"Yes, there is," Ravs just pats the the space atop of the two topmost barrels. "It's only a short drive until we reach the Fast Travel Station so you won't even be sitting there for long."

"I'll try not to hit you with the turret," Rythian adds as if it'll help. Lalna climbs onto the truck past Ravs, feeling as if he's about to fall off any second once he's sitting on top of the barrels. 

"This isn't very safe," He points out desperately. "Why can't Ravs sit up here?" He almost loses his balance as the truck lurches forward under Nanosounds' guidance and onto the road. 

"I was here first. Also, you're not very heavy, considering I carried you and Nanosounds upstairs in one go without much problem." Ravs gives him an amused look, one of his arms hanging over the edge and his boots propped up on the back frame of the truck. 

"Oh, so you're the one who carried me upstairs? Thanks, Ravs!" Nanosounds shouts over sound of the wind and the truck. Lalna closes his eyes, one of his hands latching onto the cable keeping the barrels tied to the back and starts praying with every bump and lurch that he doesn't fly off and becomes a human-shaped roadkill.

"Not a problem!" Ravs grabs Lalna's leg, pulling back onto the truck when he's about to slide off from a sudden turn Nanosounds takes, the truck sliding and screeching to a halt next to the Fast Travel Station. "See, that wasn't so bad," He says, letting go of Lalna and hopping out so a white-faced Lalna can slide downwards into his vacant spot. 

"I beg to differ and I want my own truck on the other end," Lalna barely manages. The HUD in his goggles ding as Ravs sends him the Fast Travel code to Oasis. 

"If you insist," Rythian replies, looking like he's regretting his decision of letting Nanosounds drive. 

They all clamber out, each of them taking a barrel (Ravs taking charge of two). Rythian despawns his truck, a hand on his barrel to stop it from rolling away. He disappears in a flash of light and pixels, vanishing altogether after a moment. It's just Lalna and Ravs left after Nanosounds disappears after Rythian, taking her barrel with her.

"You first," Ravs says in an encouraging tone. 

Lalna double-checks that he's got the right code punched in and then presses the button to fast-travel, holding his breath. He thinks he's done it wrong, because nothing happens. It's not this slow on other worlds. 

He opens his mouth to ask if something's supposed to happen, right before a prickling electric sensation starts at the top of his head. It travels to his feet and a heartbeat later, his world dissolves, forcibly coming apart under bright light and the sense that he's no longer of this world. 

He tries not to panic because it's just Fast Travel and he's done it countless times before, but a small part of him observes that if the network stops working at that precise moment, he'll no longer exist. He'll just be data floating endlessly in a void, never to be retrieved or experience what it's like to live again.

Will he think? Feel? Starve? Become thirsty? He can't even move his fingers or his limbs at the moment.

He takes all those thoughts, bundles them up into one giant ball and then tosses it away to the far corners of his mind, right when the Fast Travel kicks in again, depositing him and his barrel next to Rythian and Nanosounds. 

Lalna leans against his barrel, the sudden sensations of being whole again an immense relief. He's never been so glad to have solid ground beneath his feet, even if his stomach is lurching about with the nasty feeling of wanting to throw up. 

The two peer at him with differing degrees of concern. 

"You all right there?" Nanosounds says, waving a hand in front of his face. Lalna blinks, his existential fear dissipating as he feels dusty hot air blowing across his face with Nanosounds' hand flapping about in his vision. Ravs materializes with both of his barrels, already rolling them over to Rythian's newly digistructed truck. 

"I'm fine!" He says, drawing himself up straight and offering her a tentative smile, the nausea and any lingering fear evaporating once he takes in his surroundings. They're all standing outside a closed gate on a dusty road curving down a gently sloping hill that winds to the left. 

The bright blue sky hangs over their heads, not a cloud in sight to stop the sunlight from coming down on them. Lalna already feels his body growing hotter with every passing second, sweat already making the back of his shirt stick to his skin. Nanosounds is already wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Ravs and Rythian somehow look right at home.

Lalna remembers and he jogs over to Rythian. "I want my own truck," He says to Rythian, who just walks over to the Catch-A-Ride machine.

"What color?" Rythian asks, his hand poised over a myriad of selections that are invisible to everyone but him. Lalna supposes that it's the mild hangover that's making Rythian less likely to argue (alongside directly experiencing Nanosounds' driving), though he's not about to complain about it.

"Pink," Lalna decides after a moment of thought. 

"Good choice," Ravs says, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. Nanosounds also voices her approval, agreeing with Ravs. Rythian ignores them both, another truck digistructing, the suspension creaking as it lands. 

Lalna eagerly climbs into the driver's seat, thrilled to finally have his own technical (he still has to seek digistruct permission from the machine though). He tests the brakes and accelerator, twisting the steering wheel this way and that. He feels the technical bounce once as as if somebody's climbing into the turret. He looks up, seeing Nanosounds peer down at him. 

"Hi," She says and Lalna can hear the barely suppressed excitement in her words, "You sure about driving?"

"Of course. I haven't had a headache in ages, thanks to your Anshin syringe."

"That's good to know. I think you should still get that checked out though." She disappears from his view as she turns in the turret seat, the turret casting a welcome shadow over his head. 

"Once we find somebody who's actually qualified," Lalna promises, watching Rythian get into his own truck despite Ravs' protests. Ravs just sulks in the turret seat. Rythian just shakes his head. His technical takes off down the road in a cloud of dust. 

Lalna yanks up the handbrake, sets the gear to drive, his boot finding the accelerator. Lalna's pink truck lurches off the digistruct pads down the road after Rythian and Ravs. 

Lalna has to use more strength than he initially estimates to get the truck to turn properly down the slope and curve. The truck's picking up speed as it rolls downhill, Lalna not having to nudge the accelerator further. He barely misses a truck-sized rock (earning a laugh from Nanosounds) and rolls up next to Rythian, slamming on the brakes with a screech of tires to not crash into the metal fence. 

Rythian just gives him a look that regrets giving Lalna his own technical, though Lalna offers him a sheepish smile in the way of an apology (and also as thanks). Ravs has already climbed out and is briskly walking towards a person approaching them from Oasis.

\--

Ravs' friend is dressed appropriately for the desert (or the beach), complete with flip-flops. Lalna just stares at their orange cat-patterned shirt, more out of admiration than how gaudy it is and how it clashes with their green shirt underneath. They even have a little streak of sunscreen on their nose under their taped together glasses.

Lalna climbs out of the driver's seat, Nanosounds hopping down from the turret to join Rythian under the shade of a desiccated, sad-looking palm tree. 

"Nilesy! So good to see you." Ravs leans down to clap a large hand onto Nilesy's shoulder, almost toppling Nilesy, who manages to regain his footing and stand up straight. "You haven't been ordering any booze from elsewhere, have you?"

"Ravs, do you really think so little of me? I trusted you and here you are, bringing the emergency booze." Nilesy affectionately punches Ravs in the shoulder, though that doesn't appear to have budged Ravs. "So the next time I visit Sanctuary Hole, there'd better not be any pools."

"Oh, you won't see a pool." Ravs begins to steer Nilesy towards them while he's speaking. "You'll see however, that the upcoming annual meriff elections are about to take place, so drop on by to vote for me, won't you?"

"What's a meriff?" Lalna whispers to Nanosounds and Rythian. 

"It sounds like it's a cross between a sheriff and a mayor," Nanosounds whispers back. "It sounds really silly." The two peer at Rythian, who just nods in the way of confirmation. 

"How does that work?" Lalna mutters, curious as to what duties being a meriff might involve. He's interrupted by Ravs who's finally got Nilesy standing in front of them, moving to cross his arms over his chest. Nilesy just raises a hand to greet them. 

"Nilesy, meet the kind Vault Hunters Rythian, Nanosounds and Lalna who escorted me all the way from Sanctuary Hole to here." Ravs gestures to each of them in turn as he introduces them. "I think they deserve a swim in your pool."

"Depends, how much money do they have on them?" Nilesy taps his chin with a finger, giving the three a look of mild (and calculating) interest. 

"How much does it cost for a swim in this pool?" Nanosounds asks, looking as if she's seriously considering it and Lalna hopes that it's cheap because he can feel the back of his shirt becoming soaked with sweat the longer he stands in his heat.

"About a hundred thousand dollars," Nilesy says. 

"Wait, did I hear that right? A hundred thousand?" Rythian blinks, all of them (save for Ravs, who just looks like he's about to crack up) staring at Nilesy. 

"You heard right. A hundred thousand," Nilesy says in a firm tone.

"On second thought, no thanks," Lalna says. He suspects that Nanosounds might have the money, considering her affiliations. Rythian? Maybe. Himself? Not a chance. That's almost his entire life savings.

"The offer's always there if you change your mind. It's cheaper if you want a room for night. It'll run you about ten thousand dollars, including unlimited use of the shower, although..." Nilesy frowns, though Ravs steps away from him to unload the barrels from the back of Rythian's truck.

"Where do you want these barrels?" Ravs calls out. Nilesy stops frowning, snapping out his thoughts. 

"Right this way." Nilesy walks ahead of them, leading them through the empty sun-baked streets past a wall. He opens the back door to a building with multiple floors. The red paint on the outside of the building's long since cracked and is peeling away under the harsh sunlight of the desert. The threadbare carpeted hallway is blissfully cool. 

Lalna breathes in the delightfully cool air. He looks down to see his arms already appreciating the change in temperature and protection from the elements outside. He has the sneaking suspicion that his face looks identical to his arms.

Ravs collects his barrel from him, moving it along with the rest through the hallway into a tastefully decorated room with a bar at one end and a pool table at the other. There's even an old fashion jukebox, though it looks dusty.

There's a lone blond-haired patron occupying one of the bar stools, an empty glass in front of them. They only give a brief glance in their direction before their gaze drifts back to the ECHO resting on the table in front of them.

Lalna barely spares the patron a second glance since he's too busy flopping down on one of the side chairs alongside Nanosounds to let his body cool down. 

"Well, that's that," Ravs says once he's stacked up the barrels behind the bar. "That should last you for a couple months. If you need more, just ECHO me and I'll send this lot your way with more."

"Will do," Nilesy says, his voice muffled from behind the bar counter as it sounds like he's hooking up the barrels to the taps behind the counter. 

"Lalna, can I borrow your technical for the ride back?" Lalna looks up to see Ravs grinning at him. "I won't crash it, promise. Since Rythian apparently doesn't trust me with his technical."

"Sure, I can always get Rythian to digistruct another one for me." Lalna will miss his technical.

"See you guys later and thanks for your help. I've already wired payment to you from Nilesy." Ravs leaves the room, his kilt disappearing around the corner of the doorway. 

"Just despawn it when you're on the other end...Ravs? Ravs!" Rythian races out of the room after Ravs. He comes back a moment later, looking annoyed. Lalna had the impression that Ravs hightailed it before Rythian could catch up. "While we're here, is there anything you want done?" Rythian asks, directing the question at Nilesy, who's since popped up from behind the bar counter.

"Not that I can think of," Nilesy begins, though he frowns a moment later, his expression troubled. "Well, there is, actually. Do you know anything about getting water from the ground?" Each of them throw confused looks at one another. Nilesy sighs. "I take it that none of you don't?"

"None of us do. Sorry," Nanosounds says, sounding regretful. "What's wrong?"

"The alcohol will keep this town afloat a while longer, but the problem is that my usual contacts at Achelous aren't coming through with their usual shipment of water for some reason. And we've only got enough water to last us a few more days until it runs out," Nilesy explains, wringing his hands. 

"And if you run out of water, you're screwed?" Lalna asks.

"Yep," Nilesy confirms, though without any joy in his tone. Someone coughs to clear their throat, the sound coming from Nilesy's left. 

"Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear your dilemma," The patron at the bar speaks up, turning around on their bar stool to face them. All of their heads swivel to regard them, though they don't recoil from their looks of curiosity. "I may have a solution to your problem."

"You know how to get water out of the ground?" Nilesy asks, tilting his head to regard them with hope in his eyes.

"Something of the sort. Will Strife of Strife Solutions, at your service." The man gestures to himself before taking his ECO off the counter and vanishing it out of sight.

"What do you propose?" Rythian asks, taking in the man's business attire which appears more at home in an office than cavorting around on Pandora.

Will Strife continues, not at all deterred by Rythian's apparent disdain. "I have technology that'll pull water from the ground and digistruct it into the town's supply, thus renewing it. I'd be willing to set it up and supply the parts," He pauses to let them digest his words, before adding, "For a price."

"How much?" It might have been Lalna's imagination, but when Nilesy speaks, there's a calculating glint in his eyes when he asks Will. 

To his credit, Will Strife's smile doesn't falter one bit. "It'll run you a hundred thousand," He says confidently.

"Ninety thousand," Nilesy counters without a second's hesitation.

"Eighty thousand," Will responds automatically.

"Seventy-five thousand."

The Vault Hunters watch the rapid-fire haggling with a mixture of boredom (from Rythian) and fascination (both Nanosounds and Lalna). Finally, Will Strife accepts the final price of ten thousand dollars for installing and setting up the system. 

Strife slides off his stool, standing at his full height (beating Lalna by a full head) and offers a rough, clean hand to Nilesy, who enthusiastically shakes it with a smile on his face. 

"Deal," Nilesy says, sounding and looking very pleased. 

"Right, I can set up one half of it here in Oasis, but the other one will have to be in a location with plentiful water."

"Hayter's Folly," Nilesy supplies. "I can take you there. I just have one problem to that location."

"What is it?" Will asks, frowning slightly.

"Pirates. Nothing short of the water running out or a stampede of crystalisks will get them to fucking move out."

"Hm...that might indeed prove to be a problem. I'd rather not have to deal with pirates during the installation, but if there's no other choice," Will starts to say, though Rythian interjects at that moment. 

"If I may be allowed to cut in, myself, Nanosounds and Lalan here are freelancers. If you'll pay us, we'll do it," Rythian notes. Nanosounds and Lalna look at him, then back at Will to see his reaction.

"You'll get rid of the pirates?" Will raises an eyebrow that almost disappears under the sunglasses perched on his forehead.

"Bingo," Nanosounds says, giving him a thumbs up for catching on quickly. 

"Fair enough," Will concedes, though his look is more curious than annoyed at Rythian mimicking his sales pitch. "It'll actually make my life a lot easier."

\--

Nilesy leads them out back to a shed with several giant tanks linked up against one wall, pipes and machinery running all around the room. He climbs up a ladder onto the maintenance bridge running over the top of the connected tanks.

They follow him up the ladder until they're all standing next to a tank. After some effort on Nilesy's part, he opens one of the lids on a tank, a dripping ladder leading down into its largely empty interior. 

Will starts climbing down, his glasses pulled over his eyes. After a moment, Lalna pulls down his own goggles, switching on night vision and climbs down after him, much to the surprise of the other three. Lalna ignores their expressions, choosing instead to concentrate on putting one foot after another while climbing down for fear of slipping and falling until he's safely at the bottom with Will. 

Will's already digistructed a toolkit and a cylindrical machine, his head snapping up to survey Lalna with a surprised expression. 

"You don't have to help, I've done this a few times now to know what I'm doing," Will starts, though Lalna leans over, running his mechanical hand over the outside of the machine, already taking in what he needs to do. 

"I'm an engineer," Lalna says in the way of an explanation. Will accepts his explanation with a nod, shuffling to one side to give him more room to work in.

"I thought you were a freelancer?" Will asks, digistructing some more tools.

"That too," Lalna responds, taking one of the digistruct panels and beginning to cut it to the specified size with one of Will's tools. "This is nice. Where did you get this tech?"

"A solutions man has contacts. Contacts that'll get you what you need, no questions asked," Will answers.

"Fair enough." Lalna understands his need for secrecy, though he really wants to know who's behind the technology. There's no logo on the machine to give away the manufacturer's name. A search comes up with nothing. He'll ask Will more questions later, when they're currently not occupied with setting up the machine. With Lalna's help, Will manages to set it up in record time amidst much banter and conversation, the two finally straightening up.

"Thanks for your help," Will says. It comes out sounding stilted and awkward as if Will's not used to giving his thanks for a job. Lalna lets it slide though since he knows it's genuine on Will's part. 

"No worries," Lalna says, giving him a smile that Will returns after a second's hesitation. "I'll help you set up the second part too."

"That would be appreciated," Will says, letting Lalna climb up the ladder first to their waiting companions.

\--

Given the vast desert that was once an ocean (and a paradise) in which the technical can't quite handle the rough terrain, Nilesy spawns them two skiffs from the Catch-A-Ride station at Oasis. Nilesy hops into the driver's seat of one, Rythian joining him in the same skiff at the turret.

Lalna and Nanosounds opt to take the other skiff, though a round of rock, paper, scissors declares who drives. Lalna loses, so he's forced to take the turret seat while Nanosounds gets to drive. In consolation, she hands him her E-tech Dahl SMG, which Lalna tucks away to inspect later.

Lalna thinks the skiff is pretty cool in how it floats off the ground. The turret isn't as awesome as the one on the technical, though he still has fun turning around in his seat, the brief respite from the heat in Nilesy's hotel already being missed. Nilesy looks down at Will, dismay already clouding his expression once he realizes there's not enough seats on the skiffs for him.

"What about you, Will?" Nilesy asks. "Maybe you can hop up front and hang on?"

"Don't worry about me," Will says, turning his head away as if he's consulting his HUD. Lalna sees the digistruct modules serving as his cufflinks and he understands what Will intends to do. 

A hoverbike digistructs in front of him, the burnt red metal gleaming in the sun. It lands, throwing up a small cloud of dust. The bike never appears to touch the ground, hovering low. Will hops onto the bike and it rises, waiting, the twin engines at the back humming as Will starts the bike.

"What is that?" Lalna asks, leaning out of his seat to take a closer look. Nanosounds is also mimicking him, her expression one of awe. 

"Stingray. Brought it with me from my last trip to Elpis and tinkered with it to get it to work on Pandora," Will explains, looking somewhat embarrassed though seemingly flattered. 

"I haven't seen one of those in a very long time," Rythian says, his expression one of nostalgia. "Smart idea."

"Can I have a go later?" Lalna asks in a hushed, reverential tone.

"You mean, drive it? Sure."

Will's able to keep up with them on the Stingray, his purple sunglasses pulled over his eyes to keep the dust out. He drives alongside Lalna and Nanosounds' skiff, keeping out of the dust cloud their skiff kicks up. 

Nilesy and Rythian's skiff pull ahead. Nanosounds asks Lalna to snap pictures of the sand worms popping up out of the ground to spit acid at them, though they easily dodge the corrosive attacks by drifting to one side and using the skiff's speed to stay out of range. 

Frustrated with the blurry pictures due to the motions of the skiff moving constantly, Lalna actually climbs out and runs circles around the sand worms, mindful of his shield and the worms the entire time. 

He snaps about twenty pictures of varying quality before clambering onto the skiff and letting Nanosounds pull away, the turret's gunshots tearing through the sand worm hides and killing them. What Zoeya doesn't know won't hurt her, they figure.

Will actually fires some missiles from his Stingray that make short work of the worms, chunks of flesh splattering the cracked ground in a giant sticky mess. Will gives them a thumbs up and a pleased smile, to which a surprised Nanosounds and Lalna return. They would have worried about Will more but he just simply guns the engine of the Stingray and lets the spiked grill in front make short work of any worms popping up in his path.

At some point, Nanosounds directs their skiff closer to Will, who looks in their direction and pulls his Stingray closer though still remains clear of them if they decide to suddenly turn so their vehicles don't collide. 

"Hey, I want to race you," Nanosounds yells at him. 

"You? Race the Stingray and win? I think not," Will just gives her a challenging grin and a laugh to match.

"Only one way to find out!" Nanosounds straightens up the skiff, twisting the wheel this way and that to do so. "Lalna, count down for me, would you?" She calls out over her shoulder.

"Wait," Lalna says, scrambling to close his HUD where he'd been deleting blurry pictures of sand worms and find something to hang onto. "Okay, 3, 2, 1, go!" The countdown is futile because Nanosounds just hits the boost before he'd finishes, causing him to jolt in his seat and hang onto the turret for dear life.

\--

"Rythian, have you, by any chance, seen a cat?" Nilesy poses the question to Rythian as they're watching Will race Nanosounds and Lalna.

So far, Will's pulled ahead by using the Stingray's jumping capabilities at the cost of Nanosounds claiming that he's cheating despite her using the skiff's boost. Lalna's just cracking up in the back, clearly enjoying the ride despite looking terrified every single time Nanosounds directs the skiff over a jump after Will.

"I beg your pardon?" Rythian asks, giving Nilesy a baffled look before he caps a sand worm in the head with a burst of turret fire, not bothering to watch its body sink into its hole.

"Have you seen a cat recently?" Nilesy doesn't turn around to face him, directing their skiff around a sign sticking out of the ground before correcting their course once more.

"No, I haven't," Rythian responds carefully, wondering where this line of questioning is going. 

"If you see one, could you bring it to me? Living out here in the desert can get lonely, even with the townspeople dropping by every now and then for water and having a chat."

"Have you considered moving to Sanctuary Hole?"

"I would, but this place needs me. If I hadn't came here a long time ago, this town would have already been long gone."

"The corporations really need to see what their presence is doing to this planet," Rythian observes, his gaze drifting to the Hyperion space station in front of the moon before falling on Nanosounds. "If I find a cat, I'll definitely bring it to you."

"Thanks," Nilesy says. The two settle into a comfortable silence as they head closer to Hayter's Folly.

\--

"I can't believe I lost," Will says, sounding incredulous. He hands the agreed upon amount to Nanosounds, who just pockets them with a smile. "Lesson learned. Never challenge a Siren to a race of any kind." He gives a shaky, though exhilarated laugh, running a hand through his blond hair and pushing his sunglasses up to his forehead.

"Race you on the way back?" Nanosounds offers.

"No, thank you," Will says far too quickly, earning him a laugh from her.

Rythian and Nilesy drift into a view a moment later, the two of them hopping down from the skiff to join them. 

"Took you guys long enough," Lalna observes, picking at some peeling skin off his arm.

"Well, I'm glad somebody's having fun trashing their borrowed skiff," Rythian points out, though he doesn't appear to be too annoyed.

"It's fine, Rythian, we can always digistruct another if it explodes," Nilesy says, though Nanosounds and Lalna give each other alarmed looks, both of them resolving not to push the skiff too far. They're not exactly keen on being on an exploding skiff.

"One of these days, you'll join us," Lalna points out. Rythian just gives him a look that indicates otherwise. 

They all fall quiet after following Nilesy up a path into a cave. The sun is beginning to set and though the heat's still yet to lift, the cave offers them all some degree of coolness. 

The sound of running water is loud in their ears. They head up some wooden stairs into a spacious chamber with a giant pool of water surrounded by sand, rocks and healthy palm trees. 

"Nilesy, if anything happens, get behind us," Rythian murmurs. Nilesy just nods, watching them all pull out guns in preparation, including Will. 

"I see you're used to this sort of thing," Nilesy observes, watching Will load a Torgue rifle. Will offers him a pistol. Nilesy shakes his head and Will switches it before offering Nilesy a shield. After looking like he's about to decline, Nilesy takes it and clips it onto his shorts, a sheen to his figure indicating that the shield's fully charged. 

"I'm a freelancer too, so of course I'm used to this sort of thing," Will says, rolling his sleeves up and pulling his sunglasses down before digistructing the rifle into his hands once more.

"I thought you were just a solutions man," Lalna points out, unable to resist the opportunity to parrot Will's words back at him. 

"I provide many solutions, including extermination," Will curtly informs him.

"You're not with any of the corporations, are you?" Rythian asks. Will shakes his head.

"Never liked being in an office, orchestrating things from behind the scenes. I've always preferred a more..." Will pauses, trying to find words. "Hands-on approach," He finishes, looking at Rythian.

"I like the way you think," Rythian says. "Beside, the corporations wouldn't have any of that. Too upfront for their liking."

"I know, right? Too much paperwork involved..." Will and Rythian walk on ahead, their conversation low. 

"I think Rythian's made a new friend," Nilesy observes. 

The three start when there's gunfire echoing around the chamber from up ahead, Nanosounds already sprinting towards the source of the noise, her SMG in hand. Lalna follows shortly after once he's sure Nilesy is behind him, neither of them looking forward to what they'll find.

Rythian and Will had apparently sneaked up on a pirate and shot them. There's a giant gaping hole in the middle of the pirate's back, blood already running down onto the rocks underneath the sprawled body on the ground. Lalna avoids looking at the mess. 

"One down, who knows how many more to go," Will mutters, reloading his rifle. Rythian says nothing, reloading his shotgun as well.

\--

There's actually more pirates than they'd initially suspected, because the first one they'd killed had friends who'd began swarming around the other end of the cavern's corridor after hearing gunshots. There's also skags and crystalisks who decide to join in on the action, keeping some pirates busy while the rest try to kill them with a combination of gunfire, grenades and charging in.

It's complete chaos.

There's ample cover in the caverns in the form of rocks so they all pick one and stick to it, unable to move because of all the bullets raining down at them from the other end. The pirates that do charge in, Rythian just leans over his rock and with a flick of his fingers, teleports one over to him and dispatches him with his shotgun, wrestling with the ones that have shields. 

He teleports a few into the ceiling, their momentum carrying them into the sharp rocks before gravity takes over. He's not bothered by the blood that splatters onto him, simply bearing it in silence, reloading in between teleports. 

He even teleports a few right into Nanosounds' fist. She shoots him a thumbs up and Rythian shakes his head, though Lalna has the impression that he'd done so on purpose after having seen her strength from when she'd been hauling barrels with Ravs.

Lalna looks down at his mechanical arm, his fingers curling up into a fist. He gathers up his courage, braces himself before standing up amidst the gunfire to digistruct something at the very back. Bullets hit his shields, ricocheting off, draining some of the charge. 

Lalna flinches from the multiple impacts, ducking back down. He consults his HUD as his surprise deploys itself. His heart's almost beating out of his chest. The adrenaline is making him light-headed, more so than usual, but he's doing it. 

He's actually surviving his first firefight.

His Loader unfurls with a flourish and Lalna settles down, a second screen popping up in the HUD of his goggles. He sets his Loader to use its rifles and to freely roam. Half the pirates turn around at the new threat, unloading bullets that bounce off its frame. A wide swing of its arm crunches bones and bodies within its reach, sending skags flying and demolishing crystals. It starts to unload the rounds in the rifles it's holding, tearing a path towards Lalna from the back of the chamber.

"Lalna, what is that?" Rythian deadpans, watching the chaos through the sight of his sniper rifle.

"It's my Loader!" Lalna explains, pride welling up in his chest. "I thought it might help."

"I like it," Will concludes. "Here, let me help out your Loader." 

Will reaches into his pocket and also lobs something, though he aims right for the middle of the crowd. The flat metal panel he tosses is picked up by a pirate, who's about to throw it back like they think it's a grenade when it unfurls, the sudden weight pulling the pirate to the ground. They drop their gun to wrench their arm free as the turret locks onto their head with a red laser sight. 

A single burst of machine gun fire unloads into their head. 

Lalna has to look away or else the sight of someone's head being blown apart right before him causes him to throw up. 

When he looks at Nilesy next to him, Nilesy's got headphones on, his eyes closed and is bobbing his head along to some invisible tune in blissful ignorance. Lalna can't fault him for wanting to not be here right now. The next time Lalna looks up, there's an unsettling smile on Will's face as if he's enjoying his handiwork. 

Nanosounds is waving frantically at Lalna to get his attention, gesturing for him to come over to her. Lalna waits until there's a lull to the gunfire and scrambles out from behind his rock. His shield still holds strong (much to his eternal relief). He slides next to Nanosounds, rattled by the potential death he'd just experienced in moving to her.

"Watch this!" is the only warning Lalna gets as Nanosounds stands up, her tattooed hand reaching out, the rest of her tattoos and flecked eye flaring a bright purple. 

Lalna's forced to look away from her, turning his gaze ahead so he's not blinded by the light coming off of Nanosounds' body. From the corner of his eye, he can see Will and Rythian's heads swivel to the pirates ahead of and below them.

The pirate that's almost reached their cover stops, their sword in their hand lowering as their gaze snaps to their leg. There's purple creeping up through the fabric of their pants, the skin on their face mottling and beginning to turn purple. Lalna glimpses rotten teeth and gums as they start clawing away at the skin of their face with both hands, their sword clattering on the rocks. 

"Help! It's eating away at my skin!" The pirate behind him spins him around, a filthy hand pulling down their scarf to see what's the matter. They recoil in horror as the flailing pirate's skin starts peeling off, revealing muscle, blood and bone-Lalna snaps his eyes shut, right when his Loader slams into the two. 

The two pirates are sent flying in opposite directions. 

One of them lands near him, causing him to open his eyes. A quick burst of gunfire from his borrowed Dahl SMG to their head puts the pirate out of their misery. The other one lands in the middle of all that chaos. 

More and more pirates are beginning to realize that there's something wrong with their skin because they stop shooting and start examining themselves for whatever Nanosounds had done to them, even as skags rip into their bodies and crystalisk spikes explode all around them. 

There's holes opening up everywhere, the shimmering blue and purple colors flickering in and out of existence as giant purple and blue spiked tentacles reach out, some of them pulling the pirates into the holes after them while other tentacles flail around, slamming into anything drawing near them, the gunfire ricocheting off them. 

Some of the tentacles explode, splattering purple goo everywhere as bullets hit the purple pulsing pustules that Lalna assumes is their weak point. Wherever the goo hits exposed flesh, it stains the skin purple, the affliction spreading from there. 

Nanosounds is laughing, her laughter happy and wild, picking off stray pirates with her SMG and Lalna is afraid, so very afraid.

But also possibly just a little bit in awe of her powers.

\--

When everything is dead and Hayter's Folly is silent, Rythian, Will, Lalna and Nanosounds emerge. Lalna's Loader is pacing around in the mess without a care in the world. Lalna despawns it, reminding himself to check it for damage later. He's sure it's out of ammo like he is. Will fetches his turret, running a fond hand over the top of it before doing so.

"What brand is your turret?" Lalna asks him, if only to distract himself from looking at the carnage under his feet and all around him. He follows Will up some stairs, pausing to rummage in the chests there alongside Will. Will hands him some SMG ammo. Lalna trades the rifle ammo he finds for it.

"Atomic. I found it disassembled in a factory and thought I'd fix it up as my own," Will replies, picking up any discarded pirate guns and emptying them out, scooping the ammo into his inventory.

Lalna picks up the guns he drops, tucking them away without a second thought, feeling a tad guilty for scavenging, though it looks like Rythian's doing the exact same thing as he is. 

"I thought they stopped manufacturing those years ago due to being too dangerous, even for soldiers?" Lalna recalls reading the announcement in the news. It had been a sad day for mercenaries and soldiers everywhere.

"They did. This one is mostly functional now, though I'd like to find parts to upgrade it to its full capabilities. There's ECHOnet videos out there showing what this baby can do," Will says, already sounding as if he's attached to his turret. 

"I can probably help you install them," Lalna offers, the idea of tinkering with a turret a welcome distraction. It's probably not all that dangerous now, considering its current condition. 

"I'd like that. I can't find a manual anywhere on the ECHOnet, so that'll help me in the long run." Will frowns, looking around him. "We are definitely not installing the pump here with all these bodies. Even if the pump comes with the best filter money can buy," He says, sounding disgusted as if he's only just realized how spread out the carnage is. Even the water they're almost standing in is a bright red.

"What about over there?" Nilesy comes up to them without his headphones in sight, tiptoeing around any pools of water, blood and gore. He points to the scenery behind them with several terraces almost akin to springs. 

"Perfect. Keep an eye out for more pirates, though." Will continues to head up the stairs in the direction Nilesy had pointed.

"I think we've taken out every single pirate in this place." Nanosounds points to a banner far above their heads. They all crane their heads upwards to look. 

"Welcome to the Annual Pandoran Pirate Convention, please enjoy your stay and complimentary water canteen," Lalna reads out loud, then trails off. He starts laughing hysterically, causing the others to join in. Rythian even looks like he's smiling under his mask. 

"We killed so many pirates," Nanosounds laments, though she does not sound at all sorry. 

Lalna begins to wonder if he's a bad person for coming to Pandora, though he reasons that the pirates had fired at them first. Probably. Even if he recalls the sight of the pirate with a hole in their back saying otherwise about Rythian and Will being the first to strike. The pirates probably hadn't even wanted to share the water, he thinks, considering they have so much of it here in Hayter's Folly. 

Once he's standing in front of the terraces with Will and Nilesy, Will Strife starts taking off his shoes and socks, despawning them before he rolls up his trousers up to his knees. He takes off his sunglasses too. 

"I'm going to have to wade in to install it," He says, sounding annoyed. Nilesy just takes off his flip-flops, standing there in his bare feet, sand already sticking to his toes. 

"It'll be good if you can show me how this works? So you don't have to come running back to Oasis if I have a problem," Nilesy points out.

"Sure," Will says, climbing over the edge of one spring and wading to the middle, his arms held out to balance himself. "I won't even charge you for the tutorial," He jokes, earning a chuckle from Nilesy.

Lalna's only just untied his lab coat from around his waist, tossing it into his storage and is tossing his unlaced boots to one side when Rythian and Nanosounds appear on the walkway over his head. The two are covered in blood up to their elbows and chest.

"You want to come in? The water's nice," Lalna drawls, feeling the cool water run over his bare feet as he joins Will and Nilesy.

"No, don't come in," Will shouts back. "The water is fine enough as it is without you lot coming in to wash off."

"Fine by me," Rythian says, settling down on a crate, going through his latest acquisitions one by one. Nanosounds flops down next to Lalna's boots, taking care to keep free of the water. She toes off her dirty boots to stick her clean, bare feet into the water, letting out a content sigh. 

"Where did you go off to with Rythian?" Lalna asks her, fiddling with a cable.

"Rythian wanted me to help move the bodies so that they don't stink up the water." Nanosounds stops to flick water in Lalna's direction, though it doesn't reach him. "Also, so any skags that move in can eat the bodies and get rid of them for us."

"Gross," Lalna says, wrinkling his nose.

"Hey, somebody's got to do it," She points out. "I don't see you volunteering."

"I am installing the pump. It's very important." Lalna stresses the last sentence as if it'll help his case. Nanosounds looks skeptical though, though it appears she's not willing to push the subject any further. 

He has a feeling she knows that he's still getting used to this 'being shot at' and 'killing people' thing. He pretends she doesn't though and that he has the situation under control in some sort of poor attempt to live up to the occupation of Vault Hunter. 

He's long since guessed that Vault Hunters aren't exactly going to let a little thing like blood stop them from doing what they normally do in these situations to get the job done. 

"Also, I don't feel like handling dead bodies, so thanks for that," He adds after a long delay when he's busy screwing in a component that Will and Nilesy hold down for him.

"It's okay to admit you're squeamish when it comes to handling dead bodies."

"I know I am," Nilesy says brightly. Lalna refrains from asking if he's the reason why the bodies are there in the first place and then thinks that he may possibly be, however indirectly. Or if this had been Nilesy's plan all along to get rid of a threat and competition in one move.

"And done," Will announces. He flips the switch to the machine and the low hum of the machine is sweet, sweet music to Lalna as the water around their feet ripples from the machine's vibrations. Will climbs out over the terrace's edge to make his way back to solid ground. 

Lalna just uses his lab coat to dry off his feet before pulling his boots back on. Nanosounds steals his lab coat, wiping her feet on it as well, though Lalna yanks it back, almost toppling her into the water with a shout. 

Nilesy moves to help her stand up as Lalna rushes past Rythian up the stairs, fearing her wrath. Will shakes his head, tossing the wet towel he'd pulled out of his inventory back into storage. 

"Are they always like this?" He asks Rythian.

Rythian just gives a long suffering sigh, though the half-fond, half-exasperated look on his face indicates otherwise. "Pretty much, yes."

"Must be nice," Will says with an unreadable look on his face.

Rythian is about to ask him what he means when Will turns to Nilesy to add in extra details about the machine happily sitting in the water behind them. Rythian puts it out of his mind, following the others back to the skiffs.

\--

It's evening by the time they return to Oasis. Oasis is almost cold in the evening compared to the day time. They all troop into the foyer of Nilesy's hotel in varying degrees of cleanliness. Lalna has since accumulated a thick, layer of dust to his clothes and himself on the way back, ever since Nanosounds had shoved him into the pool in the entrance chamber in revenge.

"So, will you guys be staying for the night? I'll give you a steep discount for helping out Oasis," Nilesy offers as he slides behind the front counter.

"Does that include the pool?" Lalna asks.

"Hm...I'll give you a 1% discount." 

"No thanks."

"It'll be a thousand dollars if you want to stay the night. There's even hot water."

"I'll take a room," Will says, digistructing a small, neat stack of money. Nilesy hands him a key to one of the rooms once he's made sure Will had given him the right amount.

"You'll be in Room 1, Mister Strife. Let me know if you need room service!" Will thanks him, giving them a farewell nod of acknowledgment. He heads up the stairs to his room. Nilesy turns to them. "And what'll it be for you lot? Are you staying or are you going? Actually, now that I think about it, I need to ask Strife if he wants anything to eat later, or if he'd like more cat pictures in his room." 

Nilesy takes the stairs two at a time after Will, leaving the three alone.

"Going," Rythian says the moment Nilesy is out of earshot. Lalna nods in agreement. Nanosounds whirls around to face them both with an expression of both horror and disgust.

"Rythian, have you looked at yourself recently? And you too, Lalna?"

"I think I'm fine?" Lalna says, though he sounds uncertain at that moment when faced with her expression. "It's just dirt," Lalna points out. She stalks over to him and runs a tattooed finger down his arm. Her finger comes away with a thick layer of sand, dust and sunburned skin. Lalna offers her a helpless shrug, looking at Rythian for help.

"I know for a fact that Rythian and I are covered in viscera. I'm not going back out there covered in all this in the daytime heat!" She shudders, her eyes sliding shut as if she can't imagine the thought of doing so. 

Rythian is not about to tell her that he's spent longer covered in such. "I'm not spending a thousand dollars just to use the shower," He says, though he perfectly agrees with her about preferring to not walking around covered in someone else's gore when he can do something about instead. A thousand dollars would better be off spent buying a better gun (or guns), though.

"How can you live knowing that you're in such a state?" She exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. "You know what, I'll pay for the rooms." She turns to the counter, already counting out the money. 

"Nano, you don't need to-" She silences Lalna with a glare. 

Lalna shoots a pleading look at Rythian, who just shakes his head. If Nanosounds is paying for the room, he doesn't quite have it in him to argue since he'll actually get to use the shower even if Lalna wants him to argue otherwise.

Nilesy comes back down to a pleased Nanosounds and a silent Rythian and Lalna. "Oh, so you're staying! Fantastic, I have more than enough room for you three." He tosses them separate keys. "Enjoy your stay and ECHO me if you need anything. Please let me know if you require more cat pictures in your rooms." He laughs at his own private joke.

"Thanks," Lalna says dully, catching the key to his room and following Rythian and Nanosounds upstairs. He has the impression that Nanosounds is going to check on him in the morning to make sure he's actually showered.

\--

When Nanosounds knocks on Lalna's door, he answers automatically, fearing that she'll have broken down his door if he hadn't scrambled to answer. She eyes him critically. He tells her that he'd showered and even changed his clothes, spreading his arms out to let her look him over. She believes him after scrutinizing his form closely before she turns around and silently heads down the stairs.

They're both dressed in new sets of clothing, though Lalna still sticks to his jeans, T-shirt and lab coat. She's switched out for a new vest, shirt and pants almost akin to her previous set. 

Rythian is in a brown coat Lalna's never seen before, though nothing else has changed about him that Lalna picks up on. To their surprise, Will Strife is also in the lobby with them. Rythian and Will are engaged in a deep conversation that stops when they spot the two. 

"Will would like to join us," Rythian informs Nanosounds and Lalna as they walk over. 

"As a freelancer or a Vault Hunter?" Lalna asks, looking at Will. They give each other tentative smiles. 

"Vault Hunter and freelancer," Will confirms. "I'll be sticking around on Pandora for a while, so I figure why not? Safety in numbers. I'll share any pay with you if you accompany me on any jobs."

"He also appears to have a turret that may come in useful," Rythian adds. "He knows the risks already."

"Welcome aboard," Nanosounds says, offering a hand to Will, who shakes hers before fist bumping Lalna. "It'll be good to have somebody who's as business-savvy as I am, compared to these two."

"Hey, that's a bit harsh," Lalna says, feigning hurt in his tone. "We can't all be good with money."

"I think it's just you," Rythian points out. He steps back to avoid the swat that Lalna sends his way.

"Can we take a road trip back? Please? I don't like using the Fast Travel," Lalna notes. Rythian is about to say no, but sees Nanosounds look of interest at the sound of a road trip and remembers her driving. Will just raises his eyebrows at this strange exchange, though doesn't say anything. 

"You know what, I think a road trip sounds good. You can even drive," Rythian hurriedly says before Nanosounds volunteers to drive. Lalna gives him a smile, already out the door and heading towards his parked technical. Nanosounds pouts, though she doesn't argue with Rythian. 

Nilesy bids them a fond goodbye and good luck, watching Lalna drive them up the hill in Rythian's technical, Nanosounds in the turret, Will and Rythian in the back before attending to his hotel once more.

\--

When the sun is blazing down on Oasis, a man with a grey pallor to his skin nonchalantly ambles up to the hotel's front desk. Nilesy looks up from his ECHO, not at all fazed by the man's appearance and the lit cigar in his mouth.

"How can I help you?" Nilesy asks, leaning forward on the counter to survey the man with interest. The man's dressed in a dark blue Hawaiian shirt with every button done up save for the top one. Instead of a floral print, there's dollar bills actually sewn in the fabric. Nilesy can't see the man's lower body but he'd glimpsed khaki shorts (plus possibly sandals and socks) earlier when the man had entered the hotel. 

"I hear you got a pool around these parts," The man drawls, scratching at their stubble with a free hand. Nilesy pushes an ashtray at him. The man nods in thanks, tapping the end of his cigar to deposit ashes into it. Nilesy makes a mental note to open the windows to vent the smell out later.

"You are absolutely correct, I do have a pool out back," Nilesy politely confirms. 

"How much do I got to pay for a decent swim around these parts? I mean, you're called Oasis, so I rocked up here thinking there would be a beach to party on but it's just sand and worms, which is really disappointing. You guys have to change your billboard outside sometime." The man jerks his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the billboard along the boardwalk behind him. "That's just false advertising."

Nilesy nods as if he's listening, waiting for the man finish speaking before responding. "You're absolutely right, I'll run it by everyone else when we have our next town meeting. It'll run you a hundred thousand for the pool, by the way."

"You got a bigger pool? That one outside is hardly big enough for me to do a belly-flop into, let alone float around in." Nilesy would have been offended if he hadn't had the inkling that he's seen this man on a poster somewhere before and the bills on their shirt indicating that it might be worth his time indulging the man. 

"Hayter's Folly. It'll cost you a million to use that one," Nilesy quips, expecting the man to take up the cheaper option. The man calmly takes out his cigar from his mouth, pulling out his ECHO with his other hand and fiddling with it before putting it away. He blows a smoke ring away from Nilesy, a sudden smile gracing his face.

"Deal. Lead the way." Nilesy sees a notification pop up in his HUD that he's got a million dollars deposited in his account. Nilesy's mouth falls open at the amount and the sheer audacity of the man, though the man is looking at him expectantly. 

Nilesy steps out from behind the counter, his professional mask sliding back into place though he's inwardly still in shock from the sheer amount of money he now has and the hundreds of possibilities opening up. 

"Changing rooms are right this way." Just wait until he tells Ravs. Ravs is never going to believe this, Nilesy thinks as the man follows him to the changing rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aayy, a long chapter this time due to the amount of scenes i had planned for this particular chapter. 9900 something words. i think the next chapter will be shorter according to what i have planned for it, but again, that's liable to change as i write it. 
> 
> THE GOOD NEWS IS THAT THERE ARE NOW CHAPTER SUMMARIES AVAILABLE OVER HERE. however, i've refrained from putting in any major, plot-worthy details that you would have picked up on while reading to keep the summaries readable. 
> 
> again, please submit your thoughts, questions, pointing out typos or etc. via the ask or submit box on the tumblr! tagging stuff with 'borderlandscast' will guarantee that it will be seen! AND POSSIBLY REBLOGGED. your tags will also be read, each and every single one of them 8) .
> 
> the other good news is that it looks like the main storyline will have at least ten to twelve more chapters before i consider the main storyline truly complete. and there's a lot of those, according to my notes. 
> 
> so to all 196 followers, thanks for coming along for the ride and please continue enjoy your stay. the fact that there's 196 of you following this ridiculousness never ceases to amaze. 
> 
> any bad news? i can't think of any aside from that beyond the borderlands is taking a while since it's very much a wip and there's still quite a few scenes taking shape before more writing gets done.
> 
> anyways, the doodle for this chapter is over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/post/124155002299/ravs-told-me-that-nilesy-got-paid-a-million), as usual, drawn by the magnificent siins.


	4. Another One Bites The Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm including your standard warning for some minor violence involving guns in this chapter. nothing as graphic as the last 'tlvh' chapter, which is actually surprising (or not). there is also the very brief mention of suicide.

Lalna feels the problem long before it sounds. 

Under his hand, the steering wheel vibrates so hard that his teeth start to chatter from the vibrations traveling up his arm. All around him, the scenery slows from a horizontal blur into more recognizable shapes until it comes to a complete stop. 

Thick gray smoke is beginning to pour out from under the technical's turret as the engine rattles and makes a sound like it's dying. 

A very confused Nanosounds hops out of the turret, coughing and waving a hand in front of her face.

Lalna gulps, nudging the accelerator with one foot and switching the engine on and off to no avail as panic starts to well up inside of him. Rythian is already climbing out of the back seat, abandoning his card game with Will to investigate. Will scoops up the forgotten cards, stowing them into his inventory before climbing out after Rythian.

The brown-red sand comes up to Rythian's ankles as he moves to the side with the door under the turret. After wrestling with the lock (confirming Lalna's inkling of Rythian avoiding performing daily and basic maintenance on his technical), he manages to get it open, stepping back at the burnt smell wafting out. 

After looking like he's decided that this is not within his expertise, Rythian expectantly looks in his and Will's directions.

He gestures for Lalna to come over. Lalna does so, reluctantly climbing out of the driver's seat. As he walks around to the turret's side door, he vaguely hopes that Rythian doesn't connect the dots between his earlier tinkering (however stealthy he'd been) and the technical breaking down. 

The panic's been replaced by waves of roiling guilt in his gut as he takes in the sparking and charred digstruct modules. The engine doesn't appear to be in much better shape since it's directly connected to the modules.

"I don't think I can fix this," Lalna informs Rythian, managing more worried than suspicious (in his opinion). He looks up at the cloudy sky and at the scenery around him, the wind kicking up sand all around them, tugging at their clothes and hair. Lalna hopes that they're not stuck out in the open if the weather decides to play up. 

Somewhere behind him, Nanosounds is climbing on top of the sandblasted rocks, a hand over her eyes to keep the sun at bay. She slides down the other side, disappearing from his view. Lalna hope she doesn't get into trouble because that's the last thing they need, being shot at while they're stuck in the middle of the Dust with no getaway vehicle. 

"Looks way too fried to me," Will observes after peering closely and giving a nod of agreement. "Anybody got a spare engine and modules on them?" He shoots a cursory glance at the other two, receiving a shake of heads. "No? I guess we're stranded, then."

"Better start walking," Rythian simply says, looking resigned to his vehicle's fate.

"Or, we could call these guys!" Nanosounds voice floats up over the rocks. Lalna scrambles towards the sound of her voice, far too glad for a chance to not be near the broken down technical. 

Once Lalna's slid to meet her, she's standing in front of a half-buried billboard with the advertisement declaring 'BROKEN DOWN TECHNICAL OR LIGHT RUNNER? CALL THE RAIL BROS. WE OFFER CHEAP REPAIRS AND MORE. WE ALSO OFFER TOWING SERVICES...' 

The rest of the advertisement and what would have been a picture of the Rail Bros. logo has misspelled graffiti all over it or is buried deep under the sand. There's even a giant rip in the billboard like somebody's taken a giant buzzsaw to it, the yellowing torn edges fluttering madly in the breeze.

Nanosounds is already dialing the Rail Bros on her ECHO. After waiting with bated breath, the ECHO call patches through. Lalna lets out a silent cheer, giving Rythian and Will a thumbs-up from where they're watching and waiting patiently. 

A gruff voice greets her. "You've reached the Rail Bros., this is Strippin speaking, how can I help you?" A scruffy, brown-bearded figure peers out at her from her ECHO, their green eyes blinking at her.

"Strippin, you need to sound more polite," A chiding, slightly less gruff voice says from off-screen. 

"Shut up Benji, I sound perfectly polite," Strippin retorts, gesturing at the voice and jostling the ECHO feed before turning back to Nanosounds. Nanosounds spies the chance to cut into the conversation before they become sidetracked.

"We got a broken down technical that's not starting. Any chance you could get out here and repair it before the day is out?" She lifts her ECHO as high as it'll go so that Strippin can peer around her, past Lalna, Rythian and Will Strife at the still smoking technical.

Strippin makes a contemplative sound before telling her, "Depends. We'll come out to you now. What's your coords?" Nanosounds pulls her ECHO down to her, fiddling with her map for a few seconds. 

"There, coordinates sent. How long will it take for you guys to get out here?"

"Looks like you guys are just down the road. Hang tight, we'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Benji, get the towing gear ready, we're heading out before the dust storm hits!"

"All right, you don't need to yell!"

Nanosounds decides that this is the right moment to cut the call and does so before vanishing her ECHO device back into storage. She flashes Lalna a triumphant smile, which he returns, glad that they don't have to walk. That is, until he remembers Strippin mentioning a dust storm on the way and turns to Rythian and Will, his guilt stifled by panic.

"Strippin said there's a dust storm on the way! What do we do?"

"Stay by the technical," is Rythian's far too calm response. Lalna gives Rythian a long, hard stare, to which Rythian responds to with a nonchalant shrug before moving to climb into the back of the technical and making a shuffling motion with his hands that's directed at Will. The smoke from under the turret has been reduced to a thin column that the wind runs away with.

Will steps into the back of the technical, already pulling out his dog-eared pack of cards, shuffling them with practiced motions. He deals himself and Rythian a hand before taking a seat. 

Lalna and Nanosounds drag themselves back up the slope and over the rocks. They pile into the back as well, Lalna and Nanosounds perched on the technical's roof since there's not enough room in the back. Nanosounds nudges Lalna with an elbow to get him to shuffle slightly to the left. He risks elbowing her back. 

She raises both her eyebrows at him as if daring him to try that again. He relinquishes some of his space but she gives just enough room s he doesn't completely slide off of the roof. 

Will deals them cards as well, which they each scoop up, careful not to steal accidental glances at one another's hands. Will and Rythian are both sitting in the opposite corners of the back of the technical, as far away from each other and the others as possible.

Rythian's legs are too long, so he's forced to rest them on the bar under the turret hood, while Will's got an arm slung over the edge of the technical's back frame, his own boots almost knocking into Lalna's boots. The rest of the cards sit close by Will as to avoid the wind flipping them up and out into the Dust.

"Why can't we just use your Stingray?" Lalna asks. The hot wind ruffles his hair and the sun's now somewhat obscured by clouds so he's confident he's not going to be sunburned again (as his skin's still peeling and pink in places). 

Lalna scratches at his chin, careful not to accidentally crease the cards with the metal fingers of his other hand. He pulls out Nanosound's E-tech SMG and hands it back to her; she wordlessly takes it with a nod of thanks and stashes it in her own inventory.

"I don't want to clog up the engines with all this sand kicking up," Will points out, never looking up from his hand. "I've never tried my Stingray in such terrain before, nor do I want to find out what'll happen if I do."

"You have no sense of adventure," Lalna observes. "We can just fix it if it breaks down." He stops himself from saying any more, chancing a cautious glance at Rythian. Rythian doesn't look up from his cards at Lalna, far too busy frowning at his own cards like he's got a bad hand.

"I have a sense of preservation, more like," Will replies dryly. "I'll try it next time we're being shot at, how about that?"

"And wreck such a lovely hover-bike? I think not," Nanosounds notes, fanning out her cards. She makes a sound of dissatisfaction, mimicking Rythian's expression. Silence follows after Will nods at Nanosounds, seeming grateful that she's on his side in keeping his Stingray in peak working condition. 

They're all concentrating on the card game by the time a brown technical rolls up to them. All of them look up the sight and sound, reaching for their guns but stop themselves in time. 

They all climb out of the technical, each of them evaluating the Rail Bros. 

"Howdy folks," greets the man sitting in the turret, tipping his blue train conductor's cap at them. It must be Benji, because he sounds exactly like the voice that had told Strippin to be more polite during the ECHO call. 

The man in the driver's seat offers them a friendly wave. Nanosounds recognizes him as Strippin, waving at him in turn. He climbs out, ducking his head to avoid hitting himself in the head due to the bar hanging over the driver's seat. He walks over to their technical, peering into the still open chamber under the turret.

Strippin straightens up, stroking his chin after giving a shake of his head. "Yep, we're going to have to tow this back to our place. There's no way we can repair it with what we've got on hand." He jerks a thumb at the road behind him. "Plus, no sense letting you lot sitting out here when the dust storm hits."

Benji's already clambered out of the turret, pulling out a series of chains and hooks from his inventory, tossing them to Strippin before he slides into the driver's seat and bringing the Rail Bros. technical to the front of Rythian's ride. Strippin catches the chains, untangling them from each other. Strippin carefully instructs Benji to back up and stop before he attaches the chains and hooks, tightening them so that the front wheels of Rythian's technical is lifted off the ground.

"Climb in and hang onto something, it's going to be a hell of a trip back!" Strippin shouts as the wind kicks up a wave of sand that Lalna snaps his eyes shut against, already fumbling to pull his goggles down over his eyes. 

Lalna and Nanosounds climb into the back of Benji and Strippin's technical, careful not to dislodge or trample the various toolboxes and strapped down parts in the back. Rythian and Will hop into Rythian's technical (Rythian settling into the driver's seat and Will in the back). Strippin hops into the turret of his own technical, banging on the roof of the technical to signal to Benji they're good to go. Benji makes a bumpy U-turn, taking them in the direction of the Rail Bros. garage. 

As Benji coaxes the technical to maximum speed without dislodging the other technical, Lalna can see the sky and surroundings become saturated in brown and orange as the wind starts to pick up, disturbing the sand dunes and rustling the scraggly bushes on the side of the road. In the distance, spiderants start burrowing into the ground or begin scuttling back to their giant nests. Eventually, the scenery is just a blur of brown, red and orange shapes swallowed up by the storm. 

Rythian looks like he's used to this, pulling his scarf up and over his head in a makeshift hood. Will and Nanosounds appear to have trouble keeping their eyes open, eventually being forced to keep their eyes closed. 

"We're here!" Benji shouts after what feels like forever to Lalna. 

Lalna looks up, swiveling to face the front of the technical to see a building loom out of the ocean of swirling dust and sand. Strippin hops out, his goggles pulled down over his eyes. 

He braces against the wind, feeling along the columns of the building until his hand finds what he's looking for, hitting it. Benji swings the technical around to reverse it in through the metal door that's slowly cranking open.

Dust and wind pour into the garage space. The Vault Hunters hop out and to the side as Strippin moves to seal the door, Benji despawning their technical before collecting the chains and hooks left on the ground, leaving Rythian's technical parked on top of the digistruct pads on the floor. The pads lock the technical into place.

Lalna takes one look at the others and cracks up. 

The others are covered in varying degrees of grime. Will looks extremely displeased given that he'd been sitting completely exposed to the elements in the back of Rythian's technical. Rythian is probably the only one who's not completely covered in dust. The white of Nanosounds outfit has dust and sand smeared all over it, causing her to look just as unhappy and dirty as Will. 

Lalna doesn't even have to look at himself to know what he also looks like. 

"Wow, you guys need a shower," He wheezes in between bursts of laughter. A corner of Will's mouth twitches, like he's tempted to laugh but he's restraining himself in an attempt to live up to his professional image. Nanosounds on the other hand, cracks up with Lalna. 

Rythian just shakes his head and walks towards Strippin and Benji, who are both occupied with putting away the towing gear. They look up at he approaches.

"How long until the dust storm's over?" Rythian asks, pointedly ignoring the laughter behind him. 

"Forecast says about a couple of hours, mate," Strippin says, tossing a chain that Benji's handed him onto a wall hook with a loud clang of metal.

"We have food and water, so feel free to help yourselves," Benji notes softly. "We'll work on figuring out what's wrong with your technical in the meantime." He hands Strippin the last chain that Strippin hangs it with the rest. 

"Thanks. I'll pay you for anything this lot," Rythian says while gesturing to the others, "Devours." The wind bangs violently against the metal shutters, rattling them every now and then as the dust storms appears to grow in intensity. None of them pay much attention to the sounds. 

"There's also an ECHOnet set over there." Benji points to the set perched precariously on top of a number of stacked parts and a toolbox. "Reception's a bit fuzzy but you can probably get it working if you bang it hard enough."

Strippin lets out a loud whoop before leaning over to high-five Benji. They flash Rythian matching, knowing grins. Rythian just gives them an unimpressed look before returning to the others and catching the thread of conversation.

"That is a low blow, you have no idea how much time I've spent looking for a tie this good and it's ruined. Ruined," Will gripes, giving a dramatic sigh after, his fingers toying with the knot of his tie. Rythian glances at his tie; there's a tiniest tear in the silk, right under the knot. 

"Oh Strife, it's just a little tear. Nobody on Pandora is going to care if your tie's a little torn," Nanosounds replies.

"I care."

"Don't you have a spare?"

Will pauses. "Yes. I have several spares, but this is my favorite tie," He explains. 

Lalna sidles over to Rythian, who gives him a curious, questioning look. This is not what he'd walked away from. Lalna shrugs, giving him a smile, that tells Rythian that he has no idea how the conversation had progressed to this point. Rythian decides it's probably in his best interests not to get involved, heading over to the ECHOset Benji had pointed out.

It's a small set, covered in duct tape and various scratches and nicks here and there. The antennae is wilting, barely held up with more tape. Rythian turns it on, careful not to dislodge it from its precarious perch. Black and white static flares up (he closes his eyes, the beginnings of a headache fluttering away as he does so) before it's replaced by an ECHOnet show, the sound cutting out every now and then as the picture oscillates between low and high quality.

Rythian settles against the wall, keeping his gaze trained on the screen if he's watching. Truth be told, his mind's far too occupied for him to properly make heads and tails of the show and the character's mindless speech going over his head.

The gaps in his knowledge about off-world matters disturb him more than he'd like to admit. There's little point in catching up since he's not going to leave this planet, having squashed all notion of doing so a long time ago (and as if that wasn't bad enough, he wasn't born on Pandora and it's practically inevitable that he'll die on Pandora). 

Perhaps he envies the others a little for their ability to leave this world, though why they came to Pandora offers him several mysteries he'd like to solve, starting with the display of Nanosounds' Siren powers. 

Back at Oasis, he'd done his best to keep the shock and fear from his face (helped by the scarf he's always wearing) as Nanosounds had practically ripped holes into another dimension, pulled things out, controlled them and sealed the holes shut without harming herself or the other Vault Hunters, all of her own will and without any additional help from eridium. 

He knows that some Sirens thrive on eridium based on accounts and his own knowledge. 

Nanosounds is clearly one of those who doesn't, though his hypothesis is tentative at best. He has yet to see her handle an eridium bar and her reaction to it. 

She has no idea how tempted he is to hand her a bar from his own inventory (he doesn't doubt she's not that naive about the effect eridium has on Sirens) and if she reacts to it, he'll deal with her there and then, the rest of Pandora spared from the wrath of another Siren succumbing to eridium addiction.

He finds no pleasure in imagining the possible consequences, shelving it for another time for when he's more emotionally and mentally equipped to handle such a grim train of thought.

The only upside to thinking is that he's concluded that she's probably here on Pandora to seek out more knowledge about her Siren heritage. She's backed by a corporation, so it's not necessarily in her best interests to cause chaos on Pandora.

Some part of Rythian (deep down) admires her level of control over her powers where lesser people would have run rampant, drunk with power and the notion of godhood at their fingertips. Also, Sirens can be killed; it just takes a hell of a lot more firepower than one would expect. Rythian knows that if he ever were to try killing Nanosounds, he'd probably forfeit his life in the attempt. 

He desperately hopes it won't come to that, trusting in her level of control, even if he knows it might possibly backfire on him one day and by then, maybe he'll be able to take her on with a better chance of winning. Rythian feels he really should talk to a fellow experienced Vault Hunter who partially shares his concerns and fears. 

A small voice at the back of his mind sardonically points out that he's probably just overthinking once again.

Rythian drags himself back to the present as hunger's beginning to gnaw at the inside of his stomach. Rythian pulls out a skag chew (and after checking nobody is watching him too closely), he takes a bite out of it while taking in the scene before him.

Lalna is sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, engrossed in the ECHOnet show, as are Will and Nanosounds. Will's also leaning on the wall next to him, munching on a bar of rations, taking a bite out of it every now and then. Nanosounds is sitting next to Lalna with a packet of chips open in her lap (Lalna stealing one every now and then, Nanosounds not minding one bit). 

The three simultaneously groan as an advert starts playing as the episode they're watching concludes. Rythian blinks at the name of the corporation (outlined in big, blocky letters) flashing across the set's screen. He swallows the last of the skag chew, the name ringing a tiny bell at the back of his mind, drifting to the business card in his miscellaneous items inventory. 

"SIPSCO.! Need a giant bigass skeleton extracted from your backyard so you can build a pool? Look no further! You name it, we'll dig it." The image of the described scene cuts to a tall, thin, brown mustached man and a grey skinned balding man with a crooked smile both giving a thumbs up and a wink at the camera.

Rythian tries not to visibly start as a flying wrench knocks the ECHOset off its stand, sending it crashing down onto the floor, the sound reverberating in the garage. Will, Nanosounds and Lalna stop chewing, their heads cautiously swiveling to look in the direction the wrench had come from. 

Strippin is standing next to Rythian's technical, his right hand outstretched and chest heaving, looking furious.

Both of Benji's hands are stretched towards Strippin as if he'd tried to stop him. Strippin glares at him before directing his glare at the Vault Hunters. He throws up his hands, turning his back on them and Benji.

"Fuck this," He growls, scrubbing his face with a gloved hand, storming over to the back of the room. He bends down, hauling up the metal shutter closest to him and disappearing under it. 

Benji flinches at the sound of the shutter crashing shut. He crumples onto the hood of the technical, running a hand over his own face. 

Will Strife finishes off his ration bar, tossing the plastic wrapper into his inventory to dispose of it later. He walks over to Benji. Will eventually leans against the hood of the technical, raising an eyebrow at Benji. Benji gives him a tired look.

"You want to tell us what that was all about?" Will gently invites as the others make their way over after checking that the ECHOset isn't dead. Rythian places it back on its stand. 

Lalna shoots a cautious look at the shutter that Strippin had disappeared through, though it doesn't look like Strippin's about to return any time soon, judging by his footsteps thundering above their heads. It sounds like he's angrily pacing around on the second floor of the building. 

Benji swallows, taking off his hat, his fingers wrinkling the brim and fabric of it with his fidgeting, his mousy-brown hair sticking up in places.

"I don't know if I should tell you," He says with the reluctant of someone not quite willing to tell the full story, looking down at his hat, his expression filled with guilt.

"We don't have to know your entire life story but it'd be nice if we knew why Strippin reacted so badly to Sipsco.," Will says. Nanosounds lightly smacks him in the elbow. Will rubs his elbow, giving her a slightly apologetic look for his bluntness. 

"I thought they stopped showing Sipsco. ads by now so that's why I let you use the ECHOset." Benji gives a helpless sort of a shrug, not quite meeting their curious gazes.

"I'm sorry. It's my fault, I shouldn't have used it if I'd known he would react like that," Rythian begins. Benji raises a hand to cut of him off, giving a slight shake of his head, shifting on the hood of the technical.

"It's not your fault," says Benji. He replaces his hat on his head. "It's Sipsco's." The weary resignation in his tone piques their attention. He gives them a tired smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"We came to Pandora to work on the rails as part of a company, sponsored by a corporation. We were proud to be on Pandora to do our part to get the rails up and running." Benji pauses to dig around in his inventory, finally pulling out two worker's badges. 

They're both scratched in places and polished, embossed with the initials R.B. across the front. One of the badges is intact, while the other one is dented on one side, as if someone had thrown it hard against a surface in a fit of rage. Both had probably been pinned to Benji and Strippin's shirts at some point. 

Benji lets the badges rest in the palm of his hand with quiet reverence, giving the Vault Hunters time to look before he carefully puts them away.

He continues his story in a soft, somber tone, "Once we were finished, it turns out that the company went bust back home and Sipsco had bought out the corporation, cutting promised support and stranding all of us on Pandora to save money. The others went their separate ways, joined up with bandits, killed themselves in despair or died trying to find a way back home." Benji shrugs, adding, "We're probably the last two railroad workers in these parts. Even then, we don't really do any more railroad maintenance."

"And you're mechanics now?" Nanosounds ventures. "To try to raise enough money to go home?"

"That's right." Benji nods. "It hasn't been easy, I'll tell you that much."

Nanosounds reaches for her digistruct module storing her savings, but the sounds of the shutter opening and closing as well as heavy footsteps behind her pulls her attention away. Will and Rythian step out of Strippin's way as he yanks the door under the turret open with more force than needed, not quite looking at any of them.

"We don't need your charity, we're doing just fine on our own," He informs her, spitting out the last words.

"Consider this as payment for fixing Rythian's technical with a very generous tip included," Nanosounds says, giving Strippin a sugary sweet, oblivious smile as she counts out the money. 

Strippin glares at her. 

She leaves the money sitting on a bench next to Benji before strolling to the shutter, yanking it up with a grunt and going outside. She leaves the shutter open, causing the sand on the floor to scatter into every crevice as a passing breeze playfully slips in. 

Lalna takes one look at Strippin's glowering face before ducking under it as well, shouting at her to wait up. 

The world has returned to a bright blue sky with a few clouds and a blazing sun, so Rythian concludes that the dust storm's died down. He moves to leave, looking back at Will.

"We'll leave you two to repairs," Will quickly says before joining Rythian and the other two outside.

\--

Once she's a sufficient distance away and her rage's mostly cooled down, Nanosounds spies a message in her HUD. She opens it up and reads the message from Zoeya, the message instantly evaporating the last of her rage. Nanosounds dashes off a quick reply to Zoeya's message (filled with profuse thanks at the many pictures she and Lalna had sent of the sand worms).

Lalna skids in the sand before stopping next to her, doubling over in an effort to catch his breath. 

"Everything okay?" Lalna pants as he straightens up and tugs at the damp neck of his shirt. He resorts to fanning himself with a hand in an effort to get rid of the heat currently ailing him from having chased after her down the road.

"It's fine," Nanosounds says. "I'm out a thousand dollars though, but that's no problem."

"You didn't have to pay for the technical." Rythian's voice drifts over to them. The two turn to see Rythian and Will catch up to them. 

"I wanted to." Nanosounds bites her lower lip. "For my own reasons."

She wants to prove that not all corporations aren't as bad as Sipsco. She's heard various things about Sipsco, both good and bad. Since they're a direct competitor of Flux Inc., she knows she's biased against them operating on Pandora; but to hear them exploit the railroad workers and see what Strippin and Benji had been reduced to. 

Not to mention, others being in the same situation incites rage she's never felt before at the sheer injustice. She's compelled to help, but she doesn't know what else she can do aside from giving their funds a much-needed boost.

After a moment, she manages to calm herself once more. She steals a look at Lalna. Lalna has guilt shading his features. Before she can ask him what's bothering him? 

The sound of an explosion shatters the silence. The impact rocks the ground under their feet. Their heads snap up to see smoke trailing upwards from the front of the garage. Rythian is already racing towards the smoke, the others in tow, all of them already fearing the worst, looking up to the sky and expecting Buzzards circling overhead but the sky's clear.

Rythian's heart is thudding so hard in his chest by the time he and the others make it back, the knot of anxiety loosening in his chest only to be replaced by something else. 

Out in front of the Rail Bros. garage, his technical's a burning wreck, flames licking away at the blackened remains. 

Benji has a rocket launcher hefted on one shoulder and is reloading it. Upon seeing Rythian, Benji tosses it back over his shoulder. The rocket launcher vanishes, presumably into his inventory. Rythian looks at Benji, absolutely livid. His footsteps crunch in the sand as Benji backs up, startled by the fury in Rythian's eyes and radiating off his frame.

"Did you just blow up my technical? Whatever happened to repairs?" Rythian sees Strippin emerge from the garage in a brisk walk. Strippin steps in between him and Benji, holding a hand up as if to placate. Rythian's gaze flickers to it briefly before up to Strippin's green eyes, annoyed by the calm he sees.

"Hold it, we've just tried everything to fix your ride, but it ain't happening," Strippin explains, the authority in his voice doing little to quell Rythian's fury. "I'm going to explain this slowly, so you can understand. Capiche?" Rythian still looks livid, but eventually nods, the hand reaching for his gun resting on his belt instead.

"It'd better be a good explanation," Rythian says. The others hang back at a safe distance, unsure at whether or not to intervene. Lalna trusts that Rythian won't lose his temper, though Nanosounds and Will appear unconvinced when he nods to them to convey this.

Strippin resumes his explanation once Rythian's also made it clear that he's not going to draw a gun on him or Benji. "With how badly the engine and digistruct modules are burned up, we thought it's better to get rid of the busted copy and digistruct the original technical. You with me?" 

Rythian is silent. The seconds crawl by. The fingers resting on his belt twitch once until Rythian finally speaks, his hand falling away from the digistruct modules hanging off his belt. When he speaks, it's in a tone of reluctant curiosity and his frame's no longer radiating hostility.

"Are you planning on blowing that up too?" This earns Rythian an amused snort from Strippin.

"You paid us more than we really deserve, so we're going to fix your ride or die trying." Strippin scratches the back of his head with the hand he'd previously held up, not quite looking directly at Rythian. 

It dawns on Rythian that there are unspoken apologies woven into the gesture for blowing up his technical without prior warning, for knocking the ECHOset off its stand and Strippin's earlier outburst. 

"So it'd be nice if you could digistruct your original ride so we can fix it and prevent it from breaking down as it did back there?" Strippin frames it as a question, giving Rythian a choice rather than ordering him to do so (which had probably helped matters along a little).

"Fine." Rythian walks over to the Catch-A-Ride Station, shooting a look of warning at Benji and Strippin before tapping the button to digistruct his technical. His technical appears, the locking mechanism on the pads on the floor sliding into place and preventing it from rolling out of the garage. 

Strippin unlocks the door under the turret. Benji peers over his shoulder. The two whisper to one another, holding a hushed discussion. Lalna and Will hover nearby, presumably digesting whatever snatches of conversation and talk of machinery float their way. 

Benji and Strippin occasionally reach in to fiddle and tinker, tools vanishing and digistructing at regular intervals in and out of their hands. The four appear to have a better grasp of what's going on than he does, so Rythian's reduced to apprehensively watching alongside Nanosounds. Rythian crosses his arms over his chest and waits for the diagnosis. 

Strippin eventually beckons him over.

"The good news is that we can fix it," Benji reports cheerfully. The anger at Benji blowing up his technical has died down. Benji and Strippin do appear to be genuine in their attempts to help, so Rythian can't quite bring himself to hang onto his anger, especially considering the situation the two are in.

"The bad news is that we don't have the parts in stock because we're not exactly rolling around in money," Strippin adds.

"But you can fix it?" Rythian asks. He'd hoped they'd be able to get on the road as soon as possible. On the other hand, he doesn't quite mind a delay, not exactly being in a major rush to return to Sanctuary Hole.

"Well. That depends on what you want to do next. You can either pay us to order the parts..." Benji trails off, turning to Strippin.

"Or go hunt down some bandit vehicles and rip out what's needed from their rides," Strippin finishes Benji's sentence for him. "What'll it be?"

"Hunt," choruses Will, Lalna and Nanosounds at the exact same time. After the surprise vanishes from their faces and they exchange glances, the three start laughing, including Will who lets out a hearty chuckle or two.

"Hunt it is," Rythian concedes, already approving of their immediate decision.

"Wait, do you have clearance to the Catch-A-Ride to get another working ride?" Benji nods towards said machine at the back of the garage. 

"I don't," Lalna eagerly says. "Been trying to find a way."

"We can add you, no fee needed. Just walk over here and..." Benji waltzes over to the station and after Lalna verifies that he's not a bandit, has no intention of hacking into the Catch-A-Ride stations or plans to vandalize any of them, Benji adds him, Nanosounds and Will to the system. 

It doesn't surprise the others that Will needs to be added to the system, considering how frequently he uses his Stingray (Will clearly avoiding areas where his Stingray would be damaged). Nanosounds had largely relied on the Fast Travel Stations, never quite seeing any need to digistruct a technical before. Lalna's reasons for his lack of clearance are obvious.

"Congratulations, you'll now be able to spawn your own technical from any of the stations. Provided it's not broken down or malfunctioning, that is. Happy hunting." Benji steps away from the machine with a sweeping gesture before returning to Strippin's side to quietly converse with him.

Lalna's hand hovers over the selections, the happiness at being able to spawn his own technical almost overwhelming and causing tears to prick at the corners of his eyes. 

Before he can do so, Nanosounds' hand darts in and picks a different skin from the one he'd wanted. The technical spawns with a purple and green paint job instead of the pink one he'd wanted. 

"Why?" Lalna asks her, looking devastated. Will Strife laughs. Even Rythian manages a chuckle at the look on Lalna's face.

"You snooze, you lose," Nanosounds quips at him, giving him an unconvincing look of feigned innocence before replacing it with a grin. "You can drive since it's technically your technical." 

Lalna perks up immediately, not need any further consolation or encouragement to get the technical rolling out of the garage once the others are on board. Benji and Strippin wave them off.

\--

The dust storm's all but shifted around the dunes, new ones cropping up in unexpected places and erasing old paths, including the road. None of them are particularly bothered because they've all got map markers leading back to the Rail Bros. garage.

Rythian eventually pings Nanosounds and Lalna at the same time, explaining that they'll have to learn how to swap places without stopping the technical. He gives a detailed and long-winded explanation that Lalna doesn't pay much attention to, since he's hung up on the concept of 'practice swapping seats, without stopping or slowing down'. 

Nanosounds bangs on the roof of the technical, startling him. There's a devious grin on her face that's all too familiar to Lalna at this point. He's about to argue with her, but she's already rolling from the turret, about to kick him in the back of the head if he doesn't do something, like move out of her way.

Lalna switches on cruise control before shakily climbing out of his seat to the right. The technical bounces over a dune, uncaring of his plight. The impact causes him to scrabble for something to hang onto. His hand finds the metal frame around the driver's seat, which he hangs onto it for dear life, too terrified to continue moving. 

"Move!" Rythian yells. "Climb up to the turret, it's not too far!"

The wind is howling in his ears more than ever, further dampening his will to move. He knows he has to move eventually, because if he doesn't move, any moment now, the technical will bounce again and send him flying off the technical if he loses his grip and that's it, game over. He doesn't want to close his eyes for fear of losing his footing if his vision goes dark.

Nanosounds is already in the driver's seat, looking at him as if sensing his fear. A look of concentration flickers across her face and with one hand on the wheel, she leans over, pushing his hand up the frame and forcing him up. Rythian stretches out his hands towards Lalna from the back of the technical. 

Lalna lunges towards him, using his knees to push off the hood of the technical, letting Rythian's calloused hands close around his own and pull him into the turret. 

Will's busy keeping the spiderants off their back, firing volleys of shots from his Torgue rifle and pausing to reload every now and then. Lalna doesn't even notice the gunfire, far too focused on climbing into the turret.

He's banged his knee pretty hard on the way up but considering how it could have gone worse, Lalna is never so glad to be alive. He thanks Rythian. Rythian nods, seeming almost proud of his success.

"Now swap back into the driver's seat," Rythian says.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Lalna shouts at him, his bubble of relief bursting with Rythian's words.

"It'll be fine! You did fine in swapping from the driver's seat back there," Nanosounds says. 

"We got your back!" Will adds, switching a gun out.

"Take it slow," Rythian advises. "Climb out. Don't take your hand off the turret's rail until Nanosounds is out of the seat and then you can take her place."

"Easy for you to say," Lalna mutters, which earns him an amused sound from Will. 

Lalna bangs the roof with his metallic hand. Nanosounds gives him a thumbs-up without turning around. The technical lurches as it hits a bump but never stops moving forwards as cruise control kicks in. She's already halfway out of her seat, waiting for him to move. One of her hands is still on the steering wheel, holding it steady for his benefit.

Lalna climbs out, the technical a solid, reassuring weight (albeit one moving at a hilariously fast speed) underneath him. He tries not to look down, squeezing the rail of the turret to make sure he doesn't let go of it by accident. It's easier than swapping from the driver's position to the gunner's one or so he rationalizes.

"Ready?" Nanosounds asks.

"I-okay." Lalna is not okay as Nanosounds lets go of the steering wheel, moving towards the turret. 

As he moves to slide down into the driver's seat, the wind takes his lab coat and snags it on the metal overhang covering the gas tank at the back of the technical. 

It yanks him backwards and sideways, almost out of the driver's seat, causing him to dangle halfway off the technical's roof. One of his legs is caught on the frame, trapping him.

He lets out a terrified scream, his head involuntarily craning back to watch the ground flash by. 

Will turns around, his eyes widening. He despawns his rifle, leaning over to try to grab Lalna's hand. Will can't reach Lalna or lean out further without risking falling. Sticky webs fly past Lalna's head, narrowly missing him. 

His heart is going so fast that he's not sure if it's ever capable of returning to normal. He feels something snag his leg, causing him to glance down. 

Nanosounds pulls him by the leg that's not trapped back into the driver's seat from her crouch on the technical's hood. One of her hands gripping the frame caging the driver's seat for support. His lab coat flies free of the snag at the same time she pulls him to safety. Rythian straightens up from his crouch, putting away his combat knife. There's a scrap of white cloth fluttering madly in his other hand that he pockets to return to Lalna later.

It's not until that Lalna's firmly back in the driver's seat that he realizes just how close to death he's been (more so than being shot at). Both his hands grip the steering wheel until the color drains from his knuckles, reassuring him somehow in that he's still in one piece. He doesn't even have a scratch on him.

He lets out a hysterical laugh, unable to stop, overjoyed that he's still alive and he's sure that it's the adrenaline sending him to newfound, dizzying heights of euphoria, because holy shit.

He stops laughing, turning in his seat to look at Nanosounds who has a look of guilt and relief written all over her face.

"Thanks. Now let's try that again," Lalna says. Her mouth falls open as she stares at him. Rythian and Will glance at one another, unsure at his sudden enthusiasm following recovering from a near-death experience.

"Fine," Nanosounds eventually manages once she's reigned in her shock. "Only if you promise not to fall off this time."

"Deal." Lalna pings her and readies to move once she's pinged back. 

Rythian slumps down in the back, already pulling out his sniper rifle to pick off some of the spiderants still galloping behind them. He's glad that this had turned out fine. Will raises an eyebrow at him and shrugs as if to say 'well, it could have gone worse'. Rythian couldn't agree more.

\--

At that precise moment on the half-completed space station mining rig orbiting Pandora, a ship drifts into the docking bay before slowly coming to a complete stop and aligning with the airlock. Two people wait until the airlock light flashes green before it opens, admitting them. HybridPanda and Saberial step onto the station, walking through the containment field through a series of hallways and rooms. Saberial adjusts their course according to the directions on her HUD.

There are no other signs of life on the space station aside from the worker bots and the Loaders milling around. It would have been eerie if they were new to this sort of thing, but they're both experienced, Panda being a bounty hunter and Saberial a mercenary. At some point, their jobs had once required them to step into abandoned places in search of their quarry or to fulfill a contract. 

They take a lift up. 

Saberial fidgets on the spot, reading the advertisements plastered on the wall of the lift with a bored eye. Panda's pulled out a secondhand novel, their good eye skimming across the rows of text. Something about a boy prince being a brat. Not very interesting but since they've come this far into the book, they might as well commit to finishing it. 

If something had started shooting at them, they would have welcomed it. But alas, the station remains quiet, the hum of machinery and the lift climbing steadily to the top of the station the only sounds accompanying their journey up. All lifts must come to an end and so, the lift pauses at the topmost floor. Panda puts away the book.

The hallway overlooks the space station and Pandora, several layers of bullet and impact proof glass separating them from the vacuum of space. Space is nothing new to the two of them so the view draws nothing less than a cursory glance from the two. 

At the end of the hallway is a metal door. 

Saberial knocks the door once, which smoothly slides open to admit them. Panda refrains from wrinkling their nose at a peculiar (and familiar) tangy smell in the air, but dismisses it as the office being newly refurbished, considering how shiny and expensive the office looks.

There's a man spinning around in a high-backed leather office chair behind a deep red desk. 

He sees them and puts a hand out to stop himself spinning, but misses the desk. He continues to spin around until Saberial walks over and halts his chair with a heavy hand. The man stops spinning, heaving deep breaths and planting both his hands on top of his mahogany desk, looking a little green in the face.

"Thanks," Sjin blurts out as Saberial returns to Panda's side. Sjin straightens up, running a hand through his hair before leaning forwards, his hands steepling on the desk in front of him. He gives them a grateful smile that's also welcoming.

"You must be Panda and Saberial. Welcome to Sipsco.'s new mining rig." At this, Sjin grandly sweeps a hand out over the view of the rig and Pandora behind him before proudly adding, "Sometimes it fires of its own accord so if you feel the place rumble, some leet hacker's managed to hijack it again but please, don't pay it any heed."

"You're either here to hire us to get rid of the hacker or somebody else. What'll it be?" Panda interrupts in an unimpressed tone just as the last word tumbles out of Sjin's mouth. Surprise flickers momentarily over Sjin's features but it's soon replaced by a smirk.

"I'm glad you asked. That saves me from appearing rude and having to be upfront about why you're here." Sjin gives a low chuckle, leaning over to pull out a blurry black and white photograph from one of the desk drawers and placing it on the desk. "This is Rythian. He's a Vault Hunter-"

"Has he done anything against the law?" Panda interrupts again with a bored look. Saberial picks up the photograph, peering closely at it before flicking it back to Sjin once she's memorized the photograph.

"He's killed lots of people?" Sjin says, looking annoyed at being interrupted. He catches the photograph, stopping it in place on the desk with one hand before settling in his chair again.

"Bandits don't count as people," Saberial points out, giving Panda a look as if that's obvious.

"He's probably done Pandora a favor in getting rid of all those bandits," Panda says, nodding in approval. One of their hands comes up to adjust their eyepatch, Sjin glimpsing dark gray underneath. 

"Civilians! He's killed lots of civilians."

"Please, if they shot at a Vault Hunter, they knew what they were getting into," Saberial dryly observes. Sjin is about to rattle off another plausible reason when Panda makes a dismissive gesture with one of their hands. 

"If he doesn't have a valid bounty, then don't bother."

"What if I placed a bounty on his head?" Sjin tries, starting to sound desperate. "With a million dollars as the reward?"

"Go for it. It won't guarantee mine or Saberial's cooperation though." Panda gives a noncommittal shrug.

"What if I told you he used to travel with Teep and Ravs, according to some old Loader footage?"

"Don't care about Ravs or Rythian, but Teep? Go on," Panda says, sounding very interested all of the sudden. Sjin gives a triumphant smirk now that he's got Panda's attention. 

"If you track down Rythian or Ravs, they'll probably tell you where Teep is hiding on Pandora," Sjin says. Instead of Panda agreeing to find Rythian as he expects, Panda just scowls at the obvious attempt to bait them. 

"I'll find Teep without their cooperation, but thanks for the tip." Panda glances over at Saberial, nodding their head towards the door. "I think we're done here."

"Keep an eye out for the bounties I'll put up!" Sjin waves at their backs. Neither of them look back to acknowledge him. 

Once the door's slid shut, Sjin leans back against his chair, silently congratulating himself for a job well done. He shakes off the uncertainty of them not searching for Rythian, confident that he's managed to plant the idea in their heads at least. 

All he has to is wait and sooner or later, one of them (or another interested party) is going to be hauling Rythian in and the precious treasure that Rythian's carrying. Sjin is relying on knowing that Rythian would never let it fall into the wrong hands or let it out his sight, counting on Rythian's vigilance to deliver it straight into his waiting hands.

"Did you see how he couldn't stop spinning?" Saberial starts laughing once the lift starts moving down, leaning against the wall for support. "I wanted to break character and start laughing, because he looked like he was about to hurl once he stopped!" She looks at Panda. Panda is in silent stitches.

"I'll never get tired of corporate heads trying impress us mercenary types," Panda says. "And a million dollars for a Vault Hunter? I've seen better payouts in other places," Panda ends up scoffing.

Eventually, Saberial and Panda fall quiet, watching the number of floors tick down to the one Panda's ship at. 

"You still going after Teep?" Saberial asks in a curious, low voice. 

"That's the only reason why I'm here on Pandora." Panda gives her a sharp look but she only returns a steady look of acceptance at Panda as the lift stops and dings, announcing their arrival.

\--

"Wait, wait, stop," Will shouts. Lalna hits the brakes, causing the technical to throw up a shower of sand and dust out front as it skids to a stop on the almost buried, weather beaten road they're on. Rythian and Nanosounds grunt as they brace themselves. "I think that's a bandit camp up there."

Will points past sharp rocks jutting up into the sky, causing the others to look in the direction he'd pointed. 

After about half an hour of traveling on the road with nothing in sight to shoot, they've mostly settled into comfortable silence, occasionally looking up to check their surroundings. The sight of a bandit camp causes their fingers (Will and Nanosounds' fingers, more so than the others) to twitch in want of a trigger to pull.

"How do we get up there?" Lalna turns the technical in the direction of the camp, settling for a speed that won't make the dust flowing out back too obvious at their approach.

"I don't see any road up there," Rythian notes after peering down the scope of his sniper rifle. He puts it away, exchanging it for another gun. 

"We could go around?" Will puts forth. Rythian shakes his head.

"Looks like a steep climb that way. The technical won't be able to handle it," Rythian points out. Will agrees, looking thoughtful. 

"I'm going to send my Loader to scout," Lalna says. "Discretely, of course," He hastily adds upon feeling Rythian's disapproving gaze on the back of his head. He brings up his mechanical hand and tosses the digistruct marker high above him. He swings the technical around to make another pass. His HUD pings, giving him the notification that his Loader's landed safely. 

"We could attempt a jump!" Nanosounds bounces in the turret seat, firing off a buzzsaw and watching it ping off the giant rock that's jutting well above the bandit camp at a sharp angle. "With the boost, we'll make it, I'm sure!"

"No," is Rythian's automatic response. "We'll never make it, even with the boost. We'll find another way."

"Please?" Nanosounds pleads anyway, giving Rythian an inquiring look. 

"No." Rythian ignores the look as best as he can. 

"Rythian's got a good point. The technical's too heavy and it looks way too risky," Will says as he comes to Rythian's defense. 

Nanosounds sulks in the turret, almost sliding off the seat as she does so. She accidentally kicks the inside of the turret's chamber with a boot, causing a bang to reverberate that Lalna automatically responds to.

Lalna is already halfway out of the driver's seat by the time he realizes that she hadn't intended for them to swap. 

She's already in the driver's seat, yanking the steering wheel hard in the direction of the rock, looking determined and her mouth set in a hard line of concentration. Lalna dives for the turret seat, barely managing to clamber in as the technical bumps up against the rock, pebbles scattering this way and that under the wheels as it picks up speed. 

"Lalna, why are we going in this direction?" Rythian asks, sounding puzzled before he flatly says, "Oh." Will makes a high-pitched sound of fear as he and Rythian both hang onto the sides of the technical right as Nanosounds hits the boost, giving them a final burst of speed.

The technical rockets off the very tip of the rock, causing Rythian and Will to float in mid-air for one terrifying, slow moment before their feet find the back of the technical as gravity takes hold, yanking them downwards in sharp arc towards the Buzzard landing pad.

Lalna's too terrified to close his eyes until he spots his Loader out front and raises his hand. He despawns it just in time as the technical lands where it'd been a second ago. The technical almost tips on its side, teetering on two wheels as it hits the ground with a giant screech of metal. 

Nanosounds twists the steering wheel hard. She brings them to a complete stop, forcing all four wheels to meet the ground again with nothing more than a gentle bump and the suspension squeaking as the technical stills.

Will Strife stumbles out the back of the technical, staggering to the metal fence and leaning against it. Rythian doesn't have to look to know that he really wants to throw up. Rythian lets go of the frame from where he's gripped it to the point where his hand's got pins and needles in it. He shakes his hand, feeling it return to normal before stepping off the back. 

He's never been so glad to have solid ground under his feet before, gritting his teeth, his nails digging into his palm to keep himself grounded in the present. 

The memory playing out before his eyes is that one time Ravs had driven a technical containing him, Rythian and Teep off a cliff in exactly the same manner Nanosounds had, only to land on a badass bullymong that'd almost tossed them off another cliff. 

Ravs had simply gotten out and punched it into submission; while it may sound funny now, it's not a very pleasant flashback for him. A whole host of jumbled emotions accompanies the memory, unpleasant in their vividness.

Rythian finally shakes it off and walks around to the front of the parked technical. Nanosounds is now sitting on the hood of the technical, chortling to herself. Lalna just looks like he's far too frazzled due to a combination of excitement and light-headedness while recovering from another near-death experience. He looks at up at Rythian's approach.

"Lalna, why did you let Nanosounds drive us up that cliff? We could have died in a giant flaming wreck-" Rythian's voice cracks right on the word 'died' as the rest of the words tumble forth, relaying his exasperation at the sheer audacity and recklessness of what had just happened since he's still so rattled that he can't quite leash his anger properly.

"But we didn't and that's what counts!" Nanosounds happily points out. Lalna nervously shifts from foot to foot. Rythian is about to shout at her, but Lalna strands up straight. 

"I ruined your technical by tinkering with it while your back was turned and I'm sorry for getting us into his mess since I didn't mean to swap with Nanosounds back there," Lalna confesses in the span of ten seconds, his chest heaving after and shoulders slumping down. Rythian blinks, his anger evaporating in the next second, attempting to process what Lalna's saying.

"Wait, you did what?" Rythian asks, letting the confusion sound in his voice.

"I may have tinkered with your technical in an attempt to make it better," Lalna says in a small voice. "Back when we were traveling together."

"That would explain why it felt off," Rythian says. He massages the bridge of his nose with a hand, closing his eyes. He just feels bad now for yelling and grumpy, on top of that. He really wants to take a swig from the flask of alcohol in his coat, needing something to numb the sharp spikes of emotion down to a tolerable level and to make the day slightly more bearable. 

"I'm sorry," Lalna says, still in the same tone. 

"It would have broken down sooner or later," Rythian says, struggling to find words that won't cut Lalna and failing. "It's my fault for putting off maintenance." He knows he's lying but if he really has to think about it, it's sort of the truth; the question is why he's put it off for so long (his inexperience with machine maintenance not being the only reason).

Frustrated, he turns to the bandit camp right as several bandits skid to a stop in front of him. They stare at him. He stares back. His reflexes kick in, right as the bandits open fire. Rythian vanishes, appearing in a crouch behind the technical and pulling out a gun, missing his shots due to the awkward angle of his cover. 

The others dive behind various bits of scenery for cover. The first wave of bandits crumple to the ground under the combined storm of bullets coming from all four of the Vault Hunters. Nanosounds chucks a grenade at the second wave headed their way, splitting their charge into two and scattering them.

Lalna digistructs his Loader. It lands on top of a bandit, crushing the bandit to death before it marches off into the camp, eliciting panicked shouts and screams of fury from the bandits in there. He tries not to think about how many of the bandits had been Strippin and Benji's fellow workers.

"Oops," Lalna mutters, pointedly ignoring the mess as he ducks out of cover to despawn the technical before sliding next to Nanosounds.

Will lobs his turret over the fence, unable to suppress a satisfied smile as it starts opening fire once it lands on the other side. "That should keep them occupied while we find parts," He informs them.

In between the shooting, ducking, returning fire and explosions, they empty the camp in record time. Rythian drags Lalna away from a Buzzard parked on one of the pads before Lalna can hop in and steal it, citing lack of time. Lalna pouts though he's distracted by Will calling him over to investigate a pile of junk and spare parts next to some parked technicals in the midst of being repaired.

Will and Lalna extract a pair of intact and dusty digistruct modules. They each take one. Lalna has half a mind to shove it into the pocket of his jeans, though he knows that's just inviting a broken module, so he tosses it into his inventory instead. Will even manages to scrounge up an additional ammo belt for his turret (currently on cooldown from having taken the brunt of the bandit fire back there). 

"Engine, engine, engine," Lalna mutters under his breath as he searches the technicals. 

The engines inside are all in varying states of disrepair which is the opposite of what they need (what Lalna needs, to make it up to Rythian). Lalna sweeps his gaze over the rest of the camp, the last few gunshots fading as a tentacle throws the last bandit off the cliff. Lalna only feels a millisecond of pity for the bandit before he remembers that they probably deserved it. 

His gaze lands on the Buzzard. 

A light bulb goes off over Lalna's head. He rushes over to the still intact Buzzard, digistructing a crowbar and using it to pry the cover off of the back of the Buzzard. Inside, there's a pristine engine. Lalna calls Will over. Together, they manage to disconnect it, heaving it to the ground. Both of them scratch their heads; it's too large to fit into their inventories. 

Lalna calls his Loader over, instructing it to pick up the engine. Despite its metal joints groaning with effort, the Loader manages to pick up the engine. It patiently waits for more orders. Nanosounds emerges from a building, dusting herself off.

"Oh, you found an engine! I found nothing but a gross bandit habitat." She makes a face before informing them of Rythian's whereabouts. "Rythian's just scavenging guns."

"I don't want to send my Loader ahead just in case the Rail Bros. shoot at it," Lalna says.

"Good point," Will says, just as Rythian meets up with them on the way out. 

Rythian only gives a nod once they inform him of Lalna's Loader carrying the engine back. They slide down the cliff where it's not so steep, careful not to lose their footing, walking to the Catch-A-Ride Station nearby. Will and Lalna digistruct their own technicals (Lalna managing to finally switch his technical's skin back to pink, while Will settles on a pale red color for his). 

There's the unspoken agreement of Rythian riding with Will while Nanosounds is paired with Lalna. 

Lalna orders his Loader to sit in a crouch in the back, the Loader still clutching onto the engine. Once that's done, he carefully turns on the engine and wildly swings the technical around in the direction back to the Rail Bros. garage. Nanosounds (in the turret, as usual) happily reports that his Loader isn't going to fall out anytime soon. 

The ride back is uneventful which they're all grateful for after that bout of action, taking the time to cool down and let their mind idly wander, not filled with thoughts of violence for once.

\--

Strippin and Benji both haul the engine into the garage, grunting as they manage to heft it under the turret, screwing it in and connecting the digistruct modules to it. Benji starts up the engine. It lets out such a loud rumble that Strippin thumps the hood of the technical with a hand, letting out sound of pure joy.

Rythian can't suppress a smile under his scarf, glad to have his technical functioning again. He despawns it once Benji and Strippin allow him to do so.

Behind him, Lalna finishes up repairs on his Loader, despawning it before moving to help Will install the additional ammo belt onto his Atomic turret. Nanosounds is glued to the ECHOset, taking the opportunity to cool down after the use of her Siren powers back at the bandit camp. 

Strippin walks over to the set, pulling out his ECHO and relaying something to it, interrupting the show. Nanosounds sighs but the Sipsco. logo and jingle draws their attention to the set as the video plays.

"That's Sjin, he's the current CEO," Strippin points out the figure on the screen. "Sips," Strippin points out. "And that's Zips, Sips' doppelganger. Don't know why they hired him because he looks nothing like Sips. Sips went missing one day, so Sjin took over and screwed over a lot of people, including us."

"Why are you showing us this?" Will asks, his tone more curious than disparaging.

"So that you know what they look like and if you ever meet them, plant a bullet in their heads, especially Sjin's," Strippin coolly explains, his green eyes blazing. "Or so you can kindly remind them to send us a ship to pick us up and get us off this hellhole and back to Hermes."

"Will do," Nanosounds says, etching the images of the Sipsco. players into her memory. 

"If you need a free drink, head over to Sanctuary Hole to the Crooked Caber and let Ravs know I sent you," Rythian says, sending the two of them the Fast Travel code to Three Horns Divide and directions. "Thanks for the repairs."

"Just doing our job," Benji says, tipping his hat to them. "Have a safe trip back. Maybe we'll see you at Sanctuary Hole sometime."

"Especially if there's booze," Strippin adds, his green eyes no longer blazing.

"Yeah, the meriff elections are coming up, so Ravs could use all the support," says Rythian as he climbs into the driver's seat, the panels underneath the technical sliding out of place. The others pile into the back. Lalna takes the turret this time with Nanosounds and Will in the back. The three wave at the Rail Bros. as they leave the garage, the technical turning onto the road for the umpteenth time. 

Several hours later when they're on proper roads once more, Rythian spies a dust cloud in the distance heading their way. 

There's a light runner decked out in orange that's rapidly approaching them; Rythian prepares to swing the technical off the road if the light runner starts firing, though rule of thumb on Pandora dictates that if anybody's in a light runner from a Catch-A-Ride Station, they're friendly. 

The light runner passes them without an issue. Rythian glimpses blue eyes as well as ginger bearded man briefly glancing their way. 

Will shouts something at the light runner as it passes him.

Nanosounds yells as Rythian feels the back of the technical bounce; he leans out and looks behind him to see Will jump off the back, digistructing his Stingray, nailing his landing onto it with a grunt and taking off down the road after the light runner, which starts to speed up. 

"Rythian! Swing the technical around!" Lalna shouts as Rythian does so to follow Will, wondering what's going on.

\--

Admittedly, Will had been close to napping in the back when a pair of bright, glowing blue eyes had drifted into his vision. He connects those eyes to a familiar face he hasn't see in a long, long time. Will starts, sitting up into a crouch as the light runner speeds by, Nanosounds giving him a cursory glance in his direction.

"Xephos!" Will shouts at the light runner. 

The figure in the driver's seat of the light runner hunches down. The light runner begins to speed up, possibly confirming Will's hunch. Will won't know until he sees their face, so Will does the only thing he can think of without letting the light runner out of his sight, with no time to tell Rythian to swing the technical around and chase after it. 

"Will!" Nanosounds shouts, already lunging to pull him back into the technical with a look on her face that says she's think he's got heatstroke. He's not going to let this opportunity to slip by (not knowing when he'll see them again, alive on this planet).

He jumps out of her reach, already digistucting his faithful Stingray, which remains poised in the air until he lands on it, grunting from the impact running through his legs and arms. He takes off down the road after the light runner. He knows Nanosounds will tell Rythian where he's going. Hopefully. He pulls down his sunglasses and urges his Stingray onwards.

The light runner's going too fast to make the hairpin turn in the road up ahead, so it brakes at the last moment and slides off the road instead. Both the occupants bounce in their seats as the light runner speeds down the slope. 

They come to a stop in the bushes at the bottom, giving Will the chance to pull up next to them, not quite leaving his Stingray so he can make a quick getaway if he has to.

"Xephos, is that really you?" Will peers closely at the blue-eyed figure slumped down in the driver's seat who's currently running both their hands over their bearded face with a light groan and with nary a scratch on them. They spot Will peering at them, dropping both of their hands into their lap to peer back as their vision gradually refocuses on Will's face.

"Strife? Xephos blinks, recognizing Will with mild confusion.

Will smiles, despawning his Stingray and extending a hand to Xephos. After a moment of hesitation, Xephos takes Will's hand, letting Will pull them out of the driver's seat. Xephos stumbles as one of their feet catches on the frame of the light runner, causing Xephos to faceplant into the dirt. 

Xephos gets up again, dirt smudging one of their cheeks and dust covering the front of their clothes. Will helps Xephos up (who reassures Will that they're fine, still just a touch wobbly after the crash).

"What are you doing on Pandora?" Will finally asks, stepping away from Xephos, who leans against the light runner for support.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing!" Xephos replies, a hand dusting them off.

"I didn't take you as the kind of person to even think about coming here," Will observes, though not unkindly.

Xephos wrings their hands, unsure how to respond. "Some things happened. I didn't mean to end up here," Xephos says softly, a number of expressions playing out over their face.

"Do tell, I mean, this a heck of a coincidence," Will says, right as he's interrupted by someone.

"You mind giving me a hand?" A pained voice from behind the light runner says, their tone one of discomfort that changes to strained patience. "Instead of chatting about the weather and letting these bushes jab me in the most uncomfortable places? It's okay, take your time, I'll just sit here and continue becoming one with nature."

"Honeydew! Where are you?" Xephos scrambles over to the light runner that's beginning to smoke, panicking as they try to find Honeydew. 

"Over here!" Will turns in the direction their voice.

He spies a dash of ginger amongst green. Will steps around the light runner to investigate, shoving branches and shrubbery out of his way until he runs into a figure trapped on top of a bush. They're dangling at an awkward angle; given their height, they wouldn't have wriggled out of the bush without help since their feet is off the ground. 

Will extends a hand to them and feels a strong grip close around his own hand, starting to pull back with all his weight. Honeydew yowls as he's freed, leaves and sticks raining down to the ground as he stands up, dusting himself off. 

He gives Will a thankful, toothy grin, a couple of leaves caught in his teeth. Honeydew still has a couple of sticks and leaves in his beard and hair that he brushes and picks out before standing up straight.

"Over here, friend! Your new friend's just helped me down," Honeydew calls out. Will follows him through the bushes until all three of them are standing next to the trashed light runner. 

"Strife, this is Honeydew. Honeydew, this is Will Strife. We met in university when I was doing business and science," Xephos explains, looking no longer panicked. Strife can't hide a pleased look that Xephos remembers him.

"Nice to meet you. I take it that you're Xephos' employer?" Will asks, making sure he sounds polite.

"No, Xephos is my co-CEO," Honeydew verifies. "I'm the CEO of J.A.F.F.A., previously known as Honeydew Inc.," He says, finishing with a node of pride in his voice.

"And how did you two wind up on Pandora? Pandora's not exactly a good place to do business," Will says as he shoots Xephos a curious look. "Unless it's not business related."

"It's embarrassing," Xephos says, their cheeks coloring.

"No, it's not," Honeydew replies, nudging Xephos in the leg with an elbow and looking like he wants to say something more. Xephos nudges him back, appearing to shush him with a hand.

"It is!" Xephos hisses to him. Will looks between the two, unsure whether or not to leave them in peace to discuss a matter that's clearly private.

"We're Vault Hunters," Honeydew confesses, missing the signal that Xephos is trying to send his way. Xephos lets out an embarrassed groan. "Looking to strike our fortune." Strife doesn't miss the dreamy note in Honeydew's tone. Strife gives Xephos and Honeydew an impressed look at their change in careers. 

"I'm a Vault Hunter too. Nothing like a bit of friendly competition to make it more exciting." Will raises an eyebrow at Xephos who looks surprised at Will as if they'd expected Strife to do something else instead, like laugh at them. "Well, that and I have a report to do but that's in the works while I'm gallivanting all over Pandora with some new friends of mine. Safety in numbers and all that."

"Strife! You're not dead, are you?"

"You're too young and pretty to die like this..." Voices float down the slope towards them. Xephos and Honeydew step back, looking wary all of the sudden. 

"It appears my friends have finally caught up. Come, let me introduce them to you." Will raises both his hands to reassure them. "It's okay, they're also Vault Hunters. They're friendly," Will adds in a gentler tone. 

That appears to convince Honeydew, who places a thick arm behind both of Xephos' legs and shoves Xephos forward, causing Xephos to stumble and scowl at Honeydew before walking up the slope with Will, Honeydew in tow.

Lalna and Nanosounds are standing near the edge of the slope when Will, Xephos and Honeydew walk up to them. Rythian's still sitting in the technical. They all look enormously relieved upon seeing that Will's unharmed.

"Will! What was that all about?" Lalna asks. He spies the two figures following Will. He looks expectantly at Will for details, curiosity in his gaze.

"I saw an old friend and decided we had some catching up to do. This is Xephos and Honeydew, who are fellow Vault Hunters," Will says as he gestures to the two. "These three are Lalna, Nanosounds and Rythian."

"More Vault Hunters!" Nanosounds exclaims in delight. 

Given that the light runner's in no fit state to function on the road, Xephos despawns it. 

"You might as well come to Sanctuary Hole with us since night's falling and it's not exactly safe on these roads by then," Will advises. Xephos and Honeydew agree that he has a point. 

Will digistructs two more copies of his Stingray, letting Lalna and Nanosounds take one each so that Xephos and Honeydew can sit in the back of Rythian's technical. Lalna and Nanosounds zoom around on their Stingrays, the two racing one another back and forth across the road, keeping well out of Rythian's way.

Will drives his Stingray next to Rythian's technical, keeping up a speed that'll let him converse with Xephos easily. The two exchange details of the old days. As the conversation continues, Will notices that Honeydew is looking unhappier and unhappier whenever the topic of J.A.F.F.A. (previously Honeydew Inc.) is brought up, whereupon Xephos appears to deftly dance around it or delivers a vague answer.

"You still haven't told us why to came to Pandora," Rythian points out during a lull in the conversation.

"We hit a little snag in our company's finances," Xephos says just a touch too fast to be telling the truth. "We came to do some market reassessment."

"How did you lose that much money? Stock market crash?" Will frowns. Honeydew leans forwards, finally looking fed up with the lies Xephos is feeding Will, a petulant expression on his face. 

"Oh, for the love of-look, I commissioned a diamond shovel and busted our company's account," Honeydew admits. He tosses a challenging look in Xephos' direction. "There, you don't have to lie anymore, Xephos." 

"I did say it was embarrassing how we ended up here on Pandora," Xephos notes, wincing but looking like a giant burden's lifted off his shoulders. "I'm sorry for lying to you, Strife." Xephos gives Will a sheepish look.

"It's okay. We all have our secrets to hide." Will simply says, turning his Stingray with Rythian's technical. "So you came to Pandora to hide? Fair enough. I was expecting cold-blooded murder or something worse." Will laughs, earning a reluctant smile from Xephos. "It's good to know that you haven't stooped to that level." Yet, he doesn't add.

"It could have been worse," Xephos warmly agrees before turning to Honeydew. "Thanks Honeydew, you didn't have do that." Honeydew stops looking so unhappy, giving Xephos a pleased grin and a gentle nudge in the side. 

"What would you do without me?" Honeydew muses out loud. 

Will wants to ask more about the diamond shovel but gets the feeling that it's a touchy topic for the two of them, instead asking about how they'd heard about the Vaults.

\--

Ravs is in the middle of closing up his bar when a stranger and three familiar faces swagger in, also bearing guns. He determines that they're of no threat whatsoever, putting down the glass in his hand to lean on the counter in front of him to deal with them. If they try anything, he's confident he can deal with them (for once, wishing that Teep hadn't left so early to go back down to the caverns so Teep could back him up if things soured).

"And how can I help you fine folk at this late hour? It's a bit late for drinks, but I think I can manage four of you, if you make it quick," Ravs says, giving each of them an appraising look. The figure at the head of the party shakes his head, pulling his cowboy hat down over his eyes.

"We're not here for drinks, are we, lads?" The one in the flame-print green mask says, nodding to the one with the walrus pin attached to the front pocket of his lab coat.

"No, we're not," affirms the one in a lab coat, who's looking around at the bar with mild interest.

"That would defeat the purpose of why we're here," adds the bushy bearded one in a pinstriped suit, shifting from one foot to another.

"Don't get distracted," The remaining figure says to the other three. "I'm here to run for meriff," they add, directing the last sentence at Ravs.

"Well, you're certainly in the right place to register, provided you live in Sanctuary Hole," Ravs says, making sure to keep the surprise out of his voice and his face neutral as he takes out several forms. He hadn't expected anybody else would have known about the elections outside of Sanctuary Hole and these four are clearly outsiders. 

"Just moved in," The figure in charge says. "Got a house just over yonder, near the gate."

Ravs doesn't have to ask for proof to know that they're not lying, judging from the seriousness of their tone and intent. Ravs separates one from from the rest, sliding it across the counter to them. "Just you running for meriff, I take it?"

"Just me. These three are just my lovely helpers." The figure leans over the counter, pulling out a fountain pen out of his coat. The pen is dry as a bone, causing the figure to shake it and curse under their breath. "You wouldn't happen to have a working pen, would you?"

"I do," Ravs says, handing a pen over that the figure takes.

"Cheers, mate," says the figure, proceeding to fill out the form. The figure hands the pen back, which Ravs collects with the form.

"Did you hear that, he called us 'lovely'," whispers the green masked one to the other two, sounding deeply flattered.

"I knew he was worth hearing out," says the bearded one, hefting the shotgun in their hands higher and looking bored with the proceedings.

"Be seeing you around, sunshine," says the one in the lab coat to Ravs upon seeing their employer sign the form with a flourish.

"I was going to say that, but without the sunshine tacked on. In any case, good luck and may the best meriff win!" The figure tips their hat to Ravs before turning and walks out of the bar. The three figures nod at Ravs in farewell, following their boss out.

Ravs looks down at the form, having half a mind to tear it up and pretend he never saw it, but there are witnesses so he can't exactly do that. He just safely files the form away instead. He'll deal with this in the morning, sensing incoming trouble and hopes that Rythian and the others make it back in time.

He has a feeling that this meriff election isn't going to be like the past ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are, at the fourth chapter (which clocks in at around 13,700 words). the last chapter was what, released two weeks ago? TIME FLIES WHEN YOU'RE HAVING FUN. if you haven't read the 'beyond the borderlands' fic that was released in the meantime, GO READ IT (at [tumblr](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/beyond-the-borderlands%3A-i.o.u.%3A-one-new-arm) or on [ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4427657)). the word counts of all the chapters (including this one) and fic totals roughly 58,000 words. that is a lot of words.
> 
> the doodles for this chapter are over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/post/125664881699/this-was-a-mistake-larry-robert-the-loader)! they were drawn by [siins](http://siins.tumblr.com) (go and thank them for their amazing doodles). 
> 
> the plot is moving along steadily, even if it seems like it's very slow at the moment. it'll pick up in the next few chapters. 
> 
> you also probably have a good idea of who the three strangers are. as for the fourth stranger, his name starts with 't' and rhymes with dirt. they'll play major roles in the next chapter and contribute to the plot. 
> 
> i also hope you enjoyed xephos and honeydew’s first appearances! honeydew flew face first in the bush upon the crash and flipped over, only to have his back holster caught on a branch and get stuck. 
> 
> by the way, xephos, teep and hybridpanda go by ‘they/them’ pronouns. xephos and panda do also go by ‘him/he’, but rarely. if i have messed up their pronouns, let me know ASAP so i can fix it.
> 
> if you want to stay updated on how the chapters are coming along, i have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/delurks) that you can follow for updates every now and then. mostly, it's just me noting how painful editing is and how i'm going along with word counts but i'll post ideas i'm kicking around sometimes.
> 
> p.s. panda's reading 'game of thrones' in the lift.


	5. I Know What You Rigged Last Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is gratuitous violence abound in this chapter, particularly where hatfilms (or hat corp., for that matter) is concerned. there is also the issue of ptsd visited in this chapter.
> 
> there is a flashback being experienced (with talk of past ones and flashbacks being implied to be experienced by another character) as well. this chapter does contain important plot elements in the scene containing the flashback but please take care while reading if you choose to read it.

Rythian drives, half-listening to Xephos telling Will Strife about how they and Honeydew had come across the rumors of the Vault. It'd happened largely through rumors of unopened Vaults trickling through the information network in towns every now and then. He’s confident it’s still the same old whisperings he’s heard a hundred times before.

Sure enough, Xephos and Honeydew confirm it. He doesn't even have to say a single word to lead them into doing so, the two being none the wiser (and Strife, to some extent).

Rythian reluctantly diverts his attention from the conversation happening in the back of the technical to swing the technical off the road, ending up in front of the gate barring the way back to Sanctuary Hole.

It physically pains him to do so, but he ECHOs Ravs, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to endure the incoming eyesore. He also mentally kicks himself for not thinking of it sooner.

“It’s about time, Rythian, I was expecting you back here a lot earlier.” Ravs' distant voice filters through the ECHO feed, scratchy and a touch troubled. “You can open your eyes by the way, I’m not at my ECHO."

The gate starts to creak into motion, bidding him and the others entry.

Rythian stubbornly keeps his eyes shut, refraining from giving a slight frown at Ravs' preoccupied and troubled tone. Ravs appears to pick up on Rythian's disinclination to trust him from the huffy silence on Rythian's end. Ravs laughs, the trouble momentarily vanishing from his voice. Only when Ravs cuts the call does Rythian dare to crack open his eyes again.

His technical smoothly rolls through the open gate (adding yet another improvement to his technical's performance that's already noticeable). Ravs must have a view of the gate because it doesn't close until the technical and the others are well clear of it.

Lalna, Nanosounds and Will dart ahead on their Stingrays, falling into single file on the bridge ahead, none of them (save for Lalna) sparing uncertain glances at the sheer drop into the snowy ravine under them.

The bridge underneath the technical shakes and creaks unsteadily, earning Rythian an air of uncertainty from his two passengers. Rythian spots Xephos' hand tightening on the technical's back frame in one of the side mirrors and hides a private smile at Xephos' worry. Xephos lets go of the frame once they're on solid land.

He despawns his technical after letting Xephos and Honeydew climb down, not bothering to wait for Will to despawn his Stingrays before heading into Sanctuary Hole. The sun has long dipped down below the horizon, casting shadows in the most unlikely of places. Out of habit, Rythian lets his hand drift towards his belt, even though he knows Sanctuary Hole is perfectly safe considering who's in charge.

Is it just him or has been a startling increase in the amount of people living in Sanctuary Hole since he'd last been through these parts?

There are more houses popping up around the giant drop to the caverns than he remembers. Rythian just puts it down to Ravs being able to succeed in drumming up steady business and putting the word out for the place being a safe refuge. The issue falls to the back of his mind as he enters the Crooked Caber with the others bringing up the rear.

Rythian softly knocks once. After hearing someone holler that it's fine for him (and company) to enter, Rythian opens the door.

The bar is empty save for Ravs, Teep and Zoeya sitting at the counter; it's past closing time but if he knows Ravs (and he likes to think he does), Ravs is more than happy to continue serving drinks to friendly faces.

Considering Pandora's lengthy day and night cycle and what he can remember off the top of his head about societal conventions, people prefer to catch up with each other during this period before turning in for another eight hour nap to wait for the sun to rise.

As with after lengthy road trip, the fatigue is beginning to settle, taking root in his limbs and mind. He shakes it off, not wanting to pass up an opportunity to catch up. Ravs and Zoeya give Rythian a friendly wave. Ravs moves to pull up additional seats for the others, stealing some from the booths.

Zoeya gently elbows Teep (who appears to let her elbow connect without much in the way of a reaction) as if to tell Teep to mind their manners. Teep gives Rythian an imperceptible nod that somehow satisfies Zoeya. It's made all the more impressive to Rythian in that she's managed to see it but then again, Rythian knows she's had ample time to get to know her assistant.

Teep is holding a dart in one hand, appearing to gauge the distance to the dartboard hanging off the wall on the other side of the room. Rythian leaves them to their tricky task, as much as he'd love to seek advice right now.

"And who's this lovely fellow you've got with you now?" Ravs says, holding out a calloused hand to Will Strife. Will Strife takes Ravs' hand without hesitation, Will being eager to make a good first impression. "I seem to recall giving you directions the last time you dropped by here."

Will seems abashed by Ravs' talk of him, momentarily dropping his gaze to the floor before it comes up again to settle on Ravs face.

"Will Strife of Strife Solutions," says Will. "Apparently, Sanctuary requires clearance to enter that I don't have." Upon Ravs' inquiring glance at his lack of disappointment, Will calmly adds, "It's fine. I just wanted to get a tour of the place to cross it off my bucket list." Ravs appears to accept his explanation at playing 'tourist' when Rythian gives a minute nod.

It checks out with the story Will had told of Rythian about wanting to write up a report about Pandora and mostly wanting to play 'tourist' by accepting jobs all over the place, so it doesn't raise alarm bells now that they know more about Will Strife and his primary motivation for being on Pandora.

Ravs' attention shifts elsewhere.

"And these two I know, especially you!" Ravs says upon spotting Xephos and Honeydew (the two lingering almost awkwardly near the doorway as if unsure whether or not they're welcome).

Ravs leans down, giving Honeydew an overly enthusiastic handshake before regaling the same treatment upon Xephos' extended hand. Xephos manages to suppress a wince of pain at how strong Ravs grip is, but gives Ravs no grief for his enthusiasm. Honeydew claims one of the stools, his legs dangling far above the ground. His hands barely reach the surface of the counter.

"You wouldn't happen to have any of that moonshine left, would you? I could use a drink after all the excitement back there," He requests, a note of sheepishness creeping into his voice at the forwardness of his request.

Xephos follows his example, the very picture of demure sheepishness, quietly requesting something 'not as strong' as he takes the vacant seat next to Honeydew.

Ravs doesn't appear to mind one bit, moving behind the counter to oblige. Rythian doesn't deign to ask him what's wrong, choosing to save it for later.

"Anybody else want a drink while I'm behind here?" Ravs asks.

Lalna flops down onto Ravs' former seat, raising a hand. "I want some more of that moonshine, if you don't mind." Lalna says. Zoeya and Nanosounds chime in with their own requests for drinks, the majority of everyone's attentions fully shifting to the bar in front of them.

Teep chooses that moment to throw the dart in their hand.

It misses Rythian's scarf by several scant centimeters, Rythian's gaze snapping up to follow it as it embeds into the very center of the dartboard. Teep idly flips another dart over in their hand, before they offer the dart to him. Whatever game Teep had been going on with Zoeya or Ravs is abandoned.

Ravs barely spares them a glance, busying himself with requests and refills. The two can feel his gaze upon them every now and then.

Rythian plucks the dart out of the Teep's hand and tosses it without much thought to its flight path. It sinks into the very edge of the dartboard. The two casually move across the room to reclaim their darts. Once Rythian judges they're out of earshot, he leans over.

"Can we talk?" Rythian murmurs, appearing to wrestle with pulling his dart out of the board despite it being embedded rather shallowly. Even if Teep doesn't look like they're listening, Rythian knows otherwise. "You and Ravs at the usual place and time, tomorrow?"

Teep just gives a wordless nod, moving back to the counter after retrieving their dart. A second later, a message pops up in Rythian's HUD right when he pulls his dart free.

> That was a poor throw, Rythian. I know you can do better than that.

Rythian knows a challenge when he sees it.

"Challenge accepted," Rythian says with enough volume so that Ravs and the others look up, curious. "Anyways, that was only a practice throw."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Rythian, Teep's been on a winning streak all night, even with me and Zoeya teaming up," Ravs warns as the two return to the counter.

"Maybe I'll get lucky," Rythian ventures.

"Sorry, Teep, I'm rooting for Rythian. Maybe he'll actually have a chance in beating you for once," Zoeya says, giving Teep an apologetic look. Teep gives her a look that says 'really?', causing her to chuckle.

She puts her hand in the small of Rythian's back and pushes him forward in a good-natured gesture of good luck. At the last second, Rythian corrects his stumble so he ends up standing next to Teep.

"Kick Rythian's ass," Ravs says to Teep. Teep silently huffs as if they wouldn't have it any other way.

"Hey, I thought you were on my side, Ravs," Rythian protests.

"Not today, I'm on the winning side for once," Ravs pointedly corrects with a wide grin.

"You can do it," Lalna calls from somewhere behind him. Rythian is glad for the support, even if he knows he's got no chance in winning.

"Place your bets now," Will informs them as he pulls out a pad of paper and a pen, earning an approving nod from Ravs.

Nanosounds chips in with her bet, followed by Lalna an Zoeya. After a moment, Honeydew chips in, much to Xephos' chagrin. Ravs even tosses in a good amount of his savings. Will wisely stays out of the betting.

"I'm not responsible for any losses in your savings," Rythian warns them. That doesn't stop Nanosounds from being competitive with Ravs, who places a solid amount on Teep (who shows no sign of being flattered by Ravs' confidence in them).

True to his prediction, Rythian loses by a fair margin but he takes his loss in stride. He settles by Teep in the only two empty seats left. Teep shrugs as if it couldn't be helped that Rythian's lost.

Upon realizing Rythian's loss, the others watching raise a giant bout of noise that filters up through the floorboards, waking Nilesy from his evening nap. Nilesy cautiously makes his way down the stairs to investigate as Will redistributes the winnings and losses according to his penned records.

"Evening, Nilesy," Ravs says, putting away his winnings.

"Nilesy, what are you doing so far from Oasis?" Nanosounds asks, forgetting about her loss upon spotting Nilesy.

Nilesy claims the last empty seat for himself, giving her and the others glancing in his direction a wry smile. "Why, I'm here for the meriff election."

"Speaking of which, how's that going?" Rythian asks Ravs, sensing an opportune moment to ask without spoiling the mood (too much). Ravs gives him a somewhat pained look. Rythian almost regrets asking, but Ravs waves him off, appearing to appreciate his concern.

Ravs gives a rueful smile. "The outlook for me doesn't look too good since Turps is leading."

"Who's Turps?" Honeydew asks after he downs half of his mug. "And do we need to step in if it means no more booze from you?"

Ravs gives a small shrug that belays his underlying anxiousness to Rythian and Teep while appearing unshaken to everyone else. "It's all part of the process, so you can't interfere or else I'll be disqualified. Turps is the other contender for meriff. He hangs out here a lot, apparently trying to unnerve me. You can't miss him in his sheriff's getup."

There would have been a sympathetic silence following Ravs' words if Nilesy hadn't leaned forward, his grin growing wider before he speaks. "Hey Ravs, guess what?"

"What is it now, you moocher?" Ravs says as he pours himself a drink, taking a long swing from the mug in his hand.

"I've decided I'm going to run for meriff," Nilesy announces.

Ravs narrowly avoids choking on his drink, giving Nilesy with a look of disbelief as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The others are watching this exchange with varying degrees of interest. "You got to be living in Sanctuary Hole to run for meriff," Ravs points out.

Nilesy gives a low, diabolical laugh that would have been chilling if it weren't for the indulging smile on his face downplaying it.

"Oh, but Ravs, I am. I'm living with you," Nilesy says, clearly relishing the challenging spark that appears in Ravs' eyes.

"True," Ravs simply says, as he appears to consider Nilesy with a new degree of respect. "If you want to play that way, you're more than perfectly welcome to challenge me for the title of meriff, Turps withstanding." He sets his drink aside to hand Nilesy a form fetched from underneath the counter.

"May the best meriff win," Nilesy says once the form's filled out in his neat and blocky handwriting.

Ravs extends an open hand to him. Nilesy takes it. Ravs is careful when shaking Nilesy's hand as if mindful of the disparity between their physical strengths. Rythian and Teep have seen Ravs crush a goliath's head with those same hands and yet, never quite holding back in his handshakes to anyone else.

"Well, isn't this an interesting development," Zoeya says, sipping daintily at her drink. Ravs nods, pushing a glass of rum and coke towards Nilesy without a word from Nilesy. Nilesy puts out a hand to catch it, his fingers curling around the glass.

"Oh yes, is Mister Strife around?" Nilesy leans back in his seat to peer down the line of drinkers (with exception of Rythian and Teep, who aren't drinking for obvious reasons). Will Strife looks up from a deep conversation with Xephos and Honeydew at his name being mentioned, eventually spotting Nilesy.

"You called?" Will asks, raising his voice to be heard above the general din of conversation.

"Catch!" Nilesy tosses something over all their heads. It brushes the tips of Lalna's outstretched fingers and almost collides with Honeydew's head. Will stands up and catches whatever Nilesy had tossed at him before it hits Xephos in the head (they duck, only to rise a moment later, much to Honeydew's amusement). "Thanks for lending me it. I'm giving it back. It's served me well."

"It's the shield I lent you back in Oasis," Will marvels, not bothering to suppress the surprise in his voice. "I didn't even realize it was missing from my inventory, but thank you." He pockets it, taking his seat again and picking up the thread of conversation. Nilesy sips his rum and cola with an air of deep satisfaction.

"Hey, come to think of it, how did you end up here in one piece without hiring an armed escort? The trip down here can't have been easy, considering..." Nanosounds asks but trails off. She gestures to Nilesy's frame instead.

Nilesy doesn't appear to take any offense. "I had a swell blonde lady with a friendly monstrosity of a rakk companion escort me all the way here," He tells her and anybody who might have been listening.

"You arrived here alone, if I remember correctly," Ravs says after searching his memory. "Rolled up to my front door without your companions in sight."

"She went to go feed her rakk and find someplace else to stay since her companion doesn't do so well around people."

"Rakks are usually temperamental about being domesticated," Zoeya says. "So don't take offense if it seems like she ditched to protect you and us from constant aerial bombardment."

"Oh, I know, because I've met a couple of domesticated rakks and they don't seem all that domesticated," Nilesy says. "I think I still got the bite marks from attempting to befriend hers," Nilesy puts down his glass. He holds up one of his hands. His hand is sporting faint, jagged outline of teeth marks around his knuckles. "These are affectionate bite marks, mind you."

Ravs takes one look at the bite marks and starts to laugh. "That's barely a scratch, what are you showing off for?"

"Well, excuse me, they're very impressive bite marks or as you put it, an impressive 'scratch', in my opinion," Nilesy says, sounding rather indignant, forming air quotes with his fingers at the word 'scratch'. "Not all of us can afford to take a bullet or a hit like some of the people sitting here can." There's an accusing glance thrown at Ravs as he says the last sentence.

"Touché," Ravs concedes, but it's almost lost to the sudden bout of interest the others give to Nilesy's words.

"Is he talking about me?" Honeydew asks, giving Xephos a look of curiosity.

"Or me?" Xephos asks.

"No, me," Lalna says.

They're soon talking about something completely unrelated, the alcohol definitely helping things along. 

Rythian would have agreed with Honeydew, Xephos and Lalna about not being able to afford getting hit but he chooses to keep that his agreement private. Zoeya turns to ask him about how the trip back to Sanctuary Hole had gone. Rythian is more than happy to oblige her.

\--

Xephos opens the door to the room they're borrowing (one house down, newly built and acquired by Ravs as if he'd known Rythian would have somehow accumulated extra company at some point) at the soft knock, unsure of who could be their late night caller.

Xephos is all too ready to pass out on one of the beds but upon seeing Rythian there, feels his wakefulness return in full force. The two are almost matching in height, Rythian beating him out by several centimeters.

"We need to talk," Rythian says, deliberately keeping his voice quiet. The room is dark, the only lights in the room being the blue glow radiating from Xephos and Rythian's eyes.

"It's a bit late for talking, but come on in," Xephos says as they stand aside to let Rythian in. "I never did thank you for giving us a lift here."

Honeydew rolls over in his bed, blinking sleepily but sits up upon seeing Rythian, his eyes having adjusted to the semi-darkness as to make out both of Xephos and Rythian's forms without a problem.

"You're welcome," Rythian says, his frame radiating impatience but appearing to reluctant to bring up whatever is on his mind first. He looks between the two of them as if seeking permission to openly talk.

"So, why are you here?" Honeydew says. Xephos appreciates Honeydew's bluntness at a time like this. Most of the impatience drains from Rythian's frame.

"It's about the Vaults," Rythian starts, giving them both a serious look. "I'd advise you to not look for them. They're not worth it."

"Are you going to explain why?" Xephos says, their curiosity piqued. Xephos keeps their face neutral however, as to not give their curiosity away.

Rythian shakes his head, almost apologetically. "I can't tell you any more than that."

"Fair enough," Xephos concedes.

"Are you telling us this out of the goodness of your heart or is it because you're a rival Vault Hunter like as Strife said?" Honeydew presses. "Because we got big plans for that Vault and if you're trying to scam us out of-" Xephos flashes a warning look at Honeydew from where they're standing almost behind Rythian.

Honeydew snaps his mouth shut at once, guilt flickering across his features, glad for the cover of darkness. Rythian hesitates, missing Honeydew's abrupt silence and guilt stricken expression.

"It's for your own good, both of you," He says, in a voice that's almost too quiet for them to catch. He turns to leave but not before adding, "Good night."

"Thank you for the warning," Xephos says, closing the door after Rythian. He listens for Rythian's footsteps fading into the night before consulting Honeydew as he flops onto the other bed, glad for a bed to rest in for once.

"Well, so the Vaults do exist. I never expected another Vault Hunter to give up such a critical clue that easily," Honeydew confesses.

Xephos can hear Honeydew's mind mulling over the possibilities over this vital piece of information. He knows Honeydew has no intention of listening to Rythian's warning and is going to do the exact opposite: seek the Vaults.

"We're still going after them, now that we know they exist?" Xephos already knows the answer, the question more to stave off the silence before the two of them nod off for the night, the alcohol in their guts nudging them to the brink of sleep once more.

"We've come this far, might as well give it a shot while we're stuck on this shithole of a planet," Honeydew says far too easily for Xephos' liking.

Honeydew yawns. His snores begin to fill the air after a moment or two.

Xephos doesn't argue, knowing better than to waste energy on such pointless and repetitive series of arguments when they know Honeydew's mind is dead set on finding a Vault and setting up a tourist attraction around it.

Xephos closes their eyes, thoroughly resigned (or resolved) to their fate of being dragging across the planet on a (somewhat) wild goose chase.

\--

Will decides to explore the rest of Sanctuary Hole, considering his last visit had been weeks ago. He could also stand to stretch his legs. His hangover's long since shifted into a desire for water and sustenance, so he goes downstairs in search of both. Will decides that it's not worth waking Lalna and Nanosounds to tell them where he's going.

Rythian's long since risen before Will, so Will has no idea where he's gone to but he supposes he'll run into him sooner or later. He makes sure he looks presentable (the little tear in his favorite tie giving him the faintest of worries but he'll deal) before leaving the room he'd shared with Rythian.

Once he's downstairs, Will sits next to Nilesy (who's got a little meriff banner slung over his chest and over a shoulder, how quaint) who's in the middle of breakfast. The smell and sight elicit a gnawing sense of hunger in his gut.

As if on cue, Ravs appears, not looking the least bit hungover despite consuming, what, four mugs of potent moonshine?

"Good morning. What can I get you?" Ravs hands him a menu. Will peruses it before he settles on rakk eggs and skag bacon, handing the menu back. It vanishes under the counter. Ravs ducks into the back room to make Will's food, leaving Will alone with Nilesy.

He waits until Nilesy's done eating before attempting conversation.

"So, if you're here in Sanctuary Hole, I assume the water situation in Oasis has stabilized?" Will asks.

Nilesy gives a nod, a number of expressions playing out over his face. "Yes and no."

"What do you mean?" Will's brow furrows in unhappiness at the ambiguous response.

"After a series of ECHO calls, I found out that Sipsco. paid to divert the water supplies to the bandits working under them instead," Nilesy calmly explains to Will. Will is momentarily shocked into silence.

"Seriously?" He eventually says. Nilesy gives a confirming nod.

"I paid a better supplier who're willing to step in once the groundwater runs out. All the citizens of Oasis have to do is send out the call for it," Nilesy continues, sounding a tad happier at this outcome.

"I see." Will swallows. "I'm sorry to hear that, but how did you manage to afford to get another supplier? It can't be easy or cheap."

Nilesy taps a finger against his mouth, giving Will a small, sly smile. "Sorry, that's classified. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a campaign to run." As he leaves the room, Ravs comes out of the back room bearing a plate. He places it in front of Will.

"Enjoy." Ravs holds up a hand when Will moves to dole out the money for breakfast. "It's on the house, considering how you ran the betting pool last night."

"Thanks," Will says, moving to dig into his meal. He manages to appear calm and collected and not at all embarrassed at the compliment. Ravs shakes his head at the empty plate Nilesy's left behind on the counter, taking it to the back room. It occurs to Will that Nilesy may not have been lying or joking about managing to obtain a million dollars.

A man in a sheriff's outfit takes the seat (with a rustle of cloth and clink of metal) originally occupied by Nilesy. Will thanks Ravs for the meal upon Ravs' return to the counter. Will doesn't spare the man too much of a second glance on his way out.

He pauses at the door, turning around to see if Ravs needed any help, considering the the air had grown taunt with tension upon the stranger's entry. Ravs' gaze flickers to the front door, lingering briefly on Will before focusing on Turps.

Will can take a hint. He leaves.

\--

"Oi! You!"

Will glances around his surroundings, pulled out of his thoughts of what to include in his report about this place. He imagines whoever had called intended to catch somebody else's attention, already feeling foolish for looking up. Three figures standing nearby gesture frantically when his gaze lands on them.

"Yeah, you, in the red shirt and smart-looking waistcoat!" The one in a blue suit yells.

Will points to himself, unsure if they mean him despite nobody else in the vicinity matching the description. The three figures nod, beckoning him closer. Will obliges, sure that the odd trio mean no harm since he's met them before and had been perfectly polite (if a little guarded).

He knows them. It's Trottimus, alsmiffy and djh3max (otherwise simply known as Ross). The latter two shuffle to the side to give him enough space.

He'd made a delivery to Trottimus once, delivering an urgent cargo of custom surveyor parts. Will had met the other two via Trottimus giving fleeting introductions, considering that they appeared to live in the same building. He barely manages to recall and put their names to each of them, given their distinct appearances.

Will can't recall if Trottimus has ever elaborated on what they did for a living, but Will has the distinct impression that he's better off not knowing.

"And how can I help you this fine morning? Need another delivery?" Will coolly ventures, giving each of them a cursory once-over. He's standing in between alsmiffy and Ross with Trottimus directly facing him. All three members of the trio have a restless, casual air to them.

"Nah, mate, we just wanted to have a little chat," casually drawls alsmiffy, their words sounding crisp and clear despite the green (and flame patterned) gas mask adorning their face. "Considering we don't come across friendly faces all that often."

"It's also because you were nice enough to deliver Trott's parts without ratting us out," says Ross.

He gives Will an almost feral-looking grin filled with sharp white teeth. Will refrains from stepping back out of politeness, which appears to endear him to Ross somewhat, judging by the pleased air that Ross adopts in the next moment.

"We also didn't know you were in these parts," Trottimus adds. "I assume you're here for the meriff election?"

"Yes," Will says, deciding to pander a little to their expectations. "I'm here for the election."

"You're going to vote for Turps, right?" Alsmiffy says. Will feels the intensity of alsmiffy's gaze through the mask alsmiffy's wearing.

Will resists the temptation to pull at his shirt collar even though it's quite a charming sunny day. The temperature's not too cold as to warrant more layers or stripping down. Will settles for nudging his glasses further upwards, switching off his HUD for the moment to let the breeze cool him down.

"I hear that a new candidate's joined the running," Will says, managing to dodge the question in the nick of time. He watches as their gazes shift to idly contemplate Nilesy, who's walking around town and putting up cat posters under the supervision of Nanosounds and Lalna.

"That him?" Alsmiffy unfolds their arms which had been crossed across their chest, drawing up to their full height.

"I wouldn't bother him if I were you, he's got a Siren playing watchdog at the moment," Will carefully points out, gesturing at Nanosounds. She's currently attempting to balance on top of Lalna's shoulders while trying to pin up a poster up high under Nilesy's direction.

"A Siren?" The trio huddles together, leaving Will to mutter amongst themselves in not very hushed, slightly alarmed whispers.

"We can't compete with that! Even if we dressed up all nice..."

"But we are dressed up nice!"

"Except for Trottimus, who needs a suit..."

"You burned my suit, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, whoops."

"How did he even get a Siren?"

"This wasn't in the intel..."

"Think we should charge more if we have to deal with a Siren?"

Snatches of conversation drift Will's way, causing unease to well up in his gut.

He can't help but eavesdrop, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers, pretending to watch Nilesy. He's not liking what he hears, beginning to suspect there's more to this than the trio simply showing up to put their votes in for Sanctuary Hole's new meriff.

Nanosounds ends up perched on Lalna's shoulders, both of her arms stretched out to either side for balance.

The two awkwardly turn to wave at Will when the two spot him. Will simply raises a hand in greeting before he quickly tucks it away. He jerks his head in the trio's direction to indicate that he's currently busy. They appear to get the message.

Nilesy drags the two away to plaster more cat posters all over town.

Lalna and Nanosounds almost topple over in their rush when they almost collide with Rythian coming around the corner. Rythian pauses to puzzle over why Nanosounds is hitching a ride on Lalna's shoulders. The two flash apologetic smiles, causing him to shake his head.

He starts to quietly converse with the three.

In that moment, Trottimus spies Rythian. Trottimus elbows alsmiffy and Ross to get their attention. The three straighten up, abandoning the huddle and appearing to have forgotten Will in favor of watching Rythian disappear into the Crooked Caber.

"It's the Vault Hunter! Guess he finally showed up," Ross says, blinking.

"During the meriff election? Can't be that much of a coincidence," Trottimus notes.

"Or is it?" Alsmiffy calmly observes, a note of suspicion in his voice. "We should talk to the bartender again, see what he really knows."

"I don't know if should. That bartender didn't really seem to be all that intimidated the first or second time we went in there," Ross admits.

"That's because you're not trying hard enough!" Alsmiffy snarls, though there's no real malice in their tone.

"That's because somebody was too busy being smitten with Turps' comment to be completely in character," Ross points out, the tiniest bit of sarcasm embedded in his tone that's directed at alsmiffy. Alsmiffy is already bristling at the slight.

"You want to go?" Alsmiffy plants themself solidly in front of Ross, both of their hands on their hips. Given their height, they stand a head taller than Ross.

Ross has the wider, stockier build. He takes a moment to crack both his knuckles, breaking out of his slouch to stand up straight, the top of his head barely coming up over the top of alsmiffy's shoulders. He tilts his head back to directly look at alsmiffy, his jaw set.

The air begins to boil over as the tension rises, palpable even to the most oblivious observer.

Will has half a mind to back off to a safe distance, knowing trouble when he sees it. Before he can move however, Trottimus reaches over and impatiently slaps both of alsmiffy and Ross' shoulders, dissolving the tension. Alsmiffy and Ross back down, dropping all intentions of brawling to focus on Trottimus.

"Hey Will, you want to go deliver a message to the Vault Hunter for us?" Trottimus asks, his gaze shifting to focus on Will, a nefarious glint in his eyes. Will almost startles at Trottimus remembering that he's still there. Will recovers on the spot, blinking blearily like he's just been caught day-dreaming.

"We want to have a little get-together to share intel," Ross explains, a dangerous, soft edge creeping into his tone. "A friendly chat of sorts, because we know each other from way back." Okay, that's an obvious lie, even if Ross sounds sincere to Will's ears.

"Why should I?" Will automatically says in an attempt to buy more time.

He frantically tries to come up with a way to delicately extract himself from the situation, hitting upon a distinct lack of options that don't involve provoking a chase if he barges past them in a bid for freedom or starting a display involving gun-related violence and his Atomic turret being inevitably deployed.

Killing bandits is one thing.

Will's not sure if he can explain away broad daylight murder to the others, even if it'd been in self-defense because he's just screwed himself over in appearing to have a jovial chat with them (with Nanosounds and Lalna being witnesses). This may be Pandora, but if there's a meriff in charge here, it's a guaranteed death sentence if he's the one who starts shooting.

"Why not? We'll happily pay you," Trottimus says. Upon seeing Will's reluctance, he quickly adds with a sly smile, "We'll even share the intel with you, provided you don't pass it on."

The smile gives way to a frown as Trottimus seems to puzzle over Will's reluctance to accept the chance to make a quick profit and gain vital intelligence in one move.

"A highly tempting offer, but I'm afraid I must decline for various, very legitimate reasons." Will lets out a slightly nervous laugh, turning with the intent to leave before the situation dissolves any more than it already has, regretting joining them for what had appeared to be a simple chat at first.

The pieces click in alsmiffy's mind.

"Oh. We get it. You're in cahoots with him, aren't you?" Alsmiffy steps forward to bar Will's way, towering over Will. "If you know what he knows, why not share it with us?"

Will can see himself reflected in the lens of their mask. Will swallows, hearing Ross and Trottimus step to either side to trap him in the center of a triangular formation. Fear rises in his gut, overriding the unease from earlier. His heart hammers in his throat.

He tries to clamp the fear down as best as he can, maintaining the illusion of calm and that he's not at all threatened by them.

Will crushes the impulse to start laughing in that they think he knows anything about the Vaults, because the most he can dredge up are rumors that they've probably heard a thousand times before. It's not especially helpful if they've decided he must have something new to contribute to their pool of knowledge (which is probably far more extensive than his, at any rate).

"Sharing's caring," Trottimus says. "Especially when it involves information about the Vaults that we don't already have." Will doesn't bother to point out the contradiction from earlier with Trottimus' first statement.

"You should listen to Trott. You don't want us to hurt you, do you?" Ross chimes in. "If it's information we already know, we'll let you go without a fuss. Promise."

Liar, Will's mind says.

"I'm not sure about not wanting to hurt him, considering he doesn't look like he intends to share anytime soon," Alsmiffy points out, taking Will's silence as Will knowing something they don't.

Will hears metal pieces clacking together, spying a second pair of bulkier, metallic gloves digistruct over the pair Alsmiffy's already wearing. Gas canisters hang off alsmiffy's belt. Alsmiffy's fingers flex just a fraction, enough to let a flame escape from one of the vents on a finger.

Will's hand goes to hover over one of his digustruct modules on his belt in response. Will is sorry that it's come to this and if anything, alsmiffy had made the first move.

Just before he flicks the panel for his Atomic turret into his fingers to toss it at the ground, a figure calmly taps alsmiffy on the shoulder.

Alsmiffy turns, temper flaring at being interrupted. The trio start, each of them standing up straight upon seeing the figure, assuming innocent looks and shifting on the spot.

"You lads aren't harassing a citizen of Sanctuary Hole now, are you?" Turps asks, tipping their hat up to give the trio a steady look.

"Nope, just having a lovely chat and showing off my new gear." Alsmiffy dares to lean over drape an arm over Will's shoulders, forcing cheerfulness into their tone.

Alsmiffy brandishes a glove in front of Will's face, the heat coming off the flame causing Will to break out into a sweat. Will doesn't miss the warning in that gesture, knowing that the trio isn't done with him.

"Get that glove away from him, you'll set him on fire!" Alsmiffy releases Will, the gloves vanishing out of sight before Turps can confiscate them. "If you want to set something on fire, make it a skag since we could always use more charred meat around here," Turps grumbles.

Turps looks over Will, taking in Will's current state.

Will tries his best to continue looking calm and collected, even when his nerves are rattled so badly that his hands are almost shaking and his heart's going a million miles an hour. He's trying his best to get everything inside of him to settle once more, focusing on taking one deep breath at a time.

"Alsmiffy's right. We were just having a chat, as acquaintances who haven't seen each other in a while are wont to do," Will says, proud that his voice doesn't waver one bit in front of the trio and Turps.

"Didn't look like a chat from where I was standing," Turps says, not buying it. Will is about to press his case when Trottimus speaks up before he can.

"You know these two, they like to be a bit rough with friends." Trottimus lightly punches Ross in the shoulder, flashing Will and Turps an unabashed, somewhat embarrassed smile. Ross reaches over to swat alsmiffy, causing alsmiffy to rub at their arm with how hard Ross had swatted (the swat being more of a light punch).

"Is this true?" Turps tilts his head to the side, considering. Will hurries to change the topic before the trio can figure out a way to make off with him.

"Turps, was it? I'm Will Strife, of Strife Solutions." Will stands up straight, needlessly adjusting his tie with a hand, adopting the familiar, comforting disguise of unruffled professionalism and adjusting his tone to match. "I'm here to vote but I'm still getting a handle on the candidates."

"Oh, you're really here to vote!" Turps expression brightens at the mere mention. Will latches onto that lifeline, letting Turps take him by the elbow. Turps is already launching into one of his grandiose speeches about the vision he has for Sanctuary Hole. "Come, I'll walk you around town and explain what I have planned for this lovely settlement should I win the title from Ravs..."

Turps whisks Will Strife out of sight.

Five minutes later, the trio open their inboxes to see a message from Turps.

> If I remember correctly, interrogating the good folk of Sanctuary Hole for info about the Vaults isn't part of the agreement we had.

A second message joins the first a second later.

> By the way, I'll be seeing you three for dinner later as usual!

"He's got some nerve, reminding us of the agreement and invite us for dinner in the same breath, that prick," mutters alsmiffy, deleting the messages and glaring in the direction that Turps had gone in.

"Guess we'll have to do this the old fashioned way then." Trottimus heaves a sigh, summoning one of his surveyors and sending it off on a scouting mission around the Crooked Caber to scan the building for exploitable weaknesses. Ross watches the surveyor fly off with a frown.

\--

Once Will's left the bar, Turps rests an elbow on the bar. Ravs immediately nudges his elbow out of the way to run a cloth over the surface of the counter.

"Mind your elbow, Nilesy's a messy eater," Ravs explains far too cheerfully.

Turps glances down to check his elbow, then back at Ravs, looking unamused at the lack of food bits caught on it. Ravs suppresses a grin. It's not like him to be petty but considering how much trouble Turps has caused for him, Ravs is going to take what he can get, even if it's at Turps' expense.

"You know why I'm here?" Turps casually says. Ravs already knows, ever since he'd deemed Turps an official candidate. At this point, he wishes the election would just be over and done with so he doesn't have to sit through another day of Turps' posturing.

"If you're going to put on airs about winning as usual, save your breath."

"Well, normally I'd go ahead and do that while getting a drink, but today I thought I'd change it up a little." Ravs eyes Turps as he leans forwards to rest his elbows on the bar again. Turps gives a diabolical smirk.

"Are you withdrawing? Because I'd be more than happy to serve up something else with that drink." Turps gaze drifts to one of Ravs' hands, which has since curled into a tight fist. Turps looks up to see Ravs waiting patiently for whatever he has to say. Turps is not going to let such a blatant threat go unchecked, quietly confident in that no matter what Ravs tries, victory will never be his.

"I came to tell you to give up! And to tell you to tell Nilesy to give up as well, since you two don't stand a chance of winning."

Ravs appears to contemplate Turps' words as he straightens up, shaking his head. "It ain't over until FyreUK's announced the results tomorrow over the radio. Nilesy has a fair chance in winning even if he entered at the last moment, so don't be so sure of yourself."

"You know you two can't both be meriffs, right? Only one meriff can exist in this town. You two will have to duel to the death if it's a tie, so maybe letting Nilesy enter wasn't the wisest decision," Turps points out. "Also, you can't win, just in case you didn't hear me the first time. So withdraw already and save face."

"Oh, I heard you all right. You'd better be getting that drink to go, because I'm not in the mood to serve you today since I've got plans. Like not going out without a fight." Ravs slams down a brown bottle of rakk ale on the counter with slightly more force than necessary, cracking the thick glass.

"Whatever you're thinking of doing to get rid of me, it's against the rules!" Turps pushes away from the counter in alarm, reaching for his holstered gun as he stands.

"I made the rules," Ravs says, about to say more when the sound of the front door opening interrupts him. Ravs brightens upon seeing Rythian standing there. "Oh, back so soon, Rythian? Breakfast is still available if you're hungry."

"Did I interrupt something?" Rythian asks, blinking.

"Nope, just having a chat between rivals," Ravs says airily. Rythian gives him a look of utter disbelief. Turps is not willing to push his luck any further with Ravs.

"I got my daily drink, so I'm done here." Turps picks up the cracked bottle of rakk ale, moving past Rythian. "Good day to you, citizen," He says, sweeping past him. Rythian refrains from pointing out that he doesn't live here.

"Huh, I thought Turps would be taller," He says, frowning slightly once the door closes behind Turps. Ravs can't suppress a laugh at that considering where the remark is coming from.

\--

"I'm digging as fast as I can!" Honeydew pants, dirt flying out from the hole he's currently in. "How big does this hole have to be anyway?"

"Big enough for a Fast Travel Station and deep enough so that the station won't uproot, even in the middle of a hurricane," Xephos says, carefully balancing said machine on the wall next to them with Lalna's help.

Nanosounds had offered her assistance in hauling the machine from the digistruct panels located out in the Three Horns all the way back to Sanctuary Hole. Xephos and Lalna had been quick to assure her that the two were more than capable of doing the job themselves, considering it's a delicate piece of machinery, being newly digsitructed and extremely fragile.

She'd seemed skeptical about the supposed fragile nature of the machine when the two had almost dropped it when getting it out of the back of the technical.

It'd also cost a fortune.

Xephos and Lalna aren't that eager to pay back Nilesy if something happens to the station, like accidentally dislodging something crucial inside when letting Nanosounds help (even if it'd get the job of moving it done faster). It's also why Lalna's not using his Loader for this delicate task.

Also, it's Fast Travel and nobody wants to digistruct with something vital like an arm or a leg missing because one of the mechanisms inside is busted and they don't find out until it's too late.

"You don't think that Pandora has hurricanes on this side of the coast, do you?" Honeydew pauses to catch his breath.

"Unless you're referring to a tornado?" Xephos muses.

"Or a cyclone?" Lalna says.

"What about a typhoon?" Nanosounds asks.

The four pause momentarily to let their minds slide into deep contemplation. Since none of them are meteorologists, they discard the train of thought soon enough, returning to the task at hand.

"Nope, let's just ECHOnet it."

"Good idea."

"After we're done, okay?" Xephos says.

Nanosounds comes over to the hole Honeydew is in, leaning over the side (while keeping clear of the dirt being tossed up every now and then). "You sure you don't need me down there to help?"

"I got a degree in mining logistics, this is what I live for!"

"You can get a degree in mining logistics?" A laminated piece of paper comes up out of the hole. Nanosounds takes it, letting out an impressed whistle before handing it back.

"He's quite proud of it, too," Xephos observes dryly. "This is probably the only time it's come in useful."

"I heard that! It's plenty useful! Is this deep enough?" A dirt-stained Honeydew climbs out of the hole, resting heavily on his diamond shovel that's encrusted with dirt. He pulls out a water canteen, taking a long swing from it.

Lalna and Xephos both carefully place the bottom of the machine into the hole, managing to get it to sit upright with almost all of the effort they have.

Nanosounds puts both of her hands up against the back of the machine, giving them much needed support. "You sure you don't need my help, because I can just move if you don't want me here..." She trails off.

"No, stay where you are!" Lalna says, beginning to panic at the thought of her letting go. "Please," He hastily adds, feeling like both of his arms are about to fall off if she lets go. She laughs, staying in place. Lalna would attempt to glare at her, but he's too focused on making sure the machine is not an angle.

"Honeydew, start filling in the hole with the instant cement," Xephos instructs through grit teeth. Honeydew exchange his water canteen for safety goggles, strapping them on before picking up the single-use digistruct modules at his feet. He meets their stares with a shrug.

"What? Safety first," Honeydew says. He moves to put the modules into place, using the diamond shovel to scrape the rest of the dirt pile out of the way first. Wet cement fills the hole at his prodding, setting several seconds later.

"Great, now we have to triangulate the coordinates and..." Xephos spawns a holographic keyboard that floats in midair, their fingers moving rapidly across the keys as Lalna consults his HUD.

Nanosounds lets go of the machine at last, turning to Honeydew who is taking off his safety goggles. "Let's head back, I get the feeling that these two don't really need us here. And tell Nilesy that we're done."

"I agree," Honeydew says, despawning the shovel and brushing whatever dirt he can off his body with both hands.

\--

> Rythian, I'd advise you to beware of Hat Corp.

> They wouldn't happen to be the three figures loitering around outside Turps' house all day, would they?

> I'm afraid so. I suspect they'd like to have a chat with you about the Vaults at some point, so don't go anywhere without backup.

> Thanks for the warning, Will.

> No problem. It's too bad I'm on their radar now as well.

> If they've been bothering you, I can let Ravs know and he can throw them out while he's still meriff.

> No, no, it's fine. They'll soon know I know jack about the Vaults if they do get a hold of me at some point.

> We'll come across a Vault when we come across a Vault, all in good time. By the way, let Lalna and Nanosounds know about Hat Corp. too, would you? You stay close to the other two as well.

> Hold on, I just got an idea. I've seen one of Trottimus' surveyors snooping around the place, so they know we're sharing a room and it's possible to break in.

> I'm all ears.

\--

In the dead of the night, Trottimus digistructs one of his three surveyors, nudging it towards the front door of the Crooked Caber.

The surveyor lets out a soft chirp, its single eye fixing on the lock. After a moment, the lock disengages. Trottimus despawns it, not wanting to risk it spontaneously combusting if the systems decide to play up during such a delicate operation and raising a ruckus.

Also, it'll reflect badly on Turps if they're caught breaking and entering. 

They've come too far to lose out the agreement in place with him but they're confident they'll succeed in this (foolish) endeavor to get a bona fide Vault Hunter to talk. It's the first opportunity in months for some fresh information that'll get them one step closer to the Vaults.

Trottimus pushes the door open, catching the edge with one hand so it doesn't bang on the wall as it opens inward. Alsmiffy and Ross creep into the silent bar, careful not to make too much noise. Trottimus gently closes the door behind him.

The three don't dare to raise their voices beyond a whisper.

"What floor?" Alsmiffy gropes through the darkness, the floorboards barely creaking under their footsteps.

"Second. Furthest room on the right," Trottimus recalls.

"Stairs are over here," Ross calls out.

The two follow the sound of his voice, sneaking up the stairs and wincing at every wooden creak. They have to stand still after every creak, unsure if anybody is awake to hear it, exercising utmost caution despite wanting to do the exact opposite and go in, guns blazing.

They finally end up at the door leading to Will and Rythian's room. Trottimus wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his lab coat, Ross pulling out a handkerchief to mirror him before stuffing it into the front pocket of his jacket. Trottimus shuffles closer to the door.

Trottimus deploys not one, but two of his surveyors, the lock-picking one moving to disengage the lock to the room. The other floats behind him, ready to set off a round of electrical shots designed to drain shields and incapacitate. The other surveyor is also to set to attack once it's finished picking the lock.

The surveyor's eye doesn't go through the expected motions, flashing red. Trottimus frowns, leaning down to manually inspect the lock; the room's lock is either already busted or unlocked, he suspects, for his surveyor to stall.

The door flies open, smacking into his face. Trottimus doesn't quite manage to suppress a sound of pain, reeling backwards. 

Both his hands reflexively fly upwards to cup his face. Through the tears pricking his eyes, he can barely make out red, white and purple. According to his memory, the Vault Hunter is taller and dressed in more subdued hues; with dawning horror, he realizes it's not the Vault Hunter standing there in the doorway.

It's the Siren. 

She swings upwards, catching Trottimus in the chin with the palm of her hand, landing a single, solid clean hit that sends Trottimus flying. He hits the wall, crumpling into a heap on to the floor as pain flares up all over his body. His shield's drained by more than half. He registers the barely audible whine of it struggling to recharge. His surveyors drift close, already boosting his shield back to full capacity as best as they can.

Ross' silhouette is steadily growing larger. His teeth are sharpening, the corners of his mouth pulling back to accommodate his changing teeth. His fingers are already lengthening into claws that curl inwards, but right when he's achieve a form halfway to what he intends? Nanosounds' hand lunges out, grabbing him by the tie and hauling him down closer. 

The strength in that grip is inhuman, shocking Ross. He tries to wrench out of her grip, failing to do so.

She headbutts him in the nose. The ugly crack of bone rings out, drawing a loud, pained whine from Ross. Ross raises one hand to rake a clawed hand across her face in revenge, but she appears to decide he's not interesting enough. She tosses him into Trottimus who's only just gotten to his feet.

With an almighty crash, the two go down on the floor in tangled heap of limbs. The surveyors remain well out of their way, diligent in their attempts to replenish the two's drained shields. 

Alsmiffy's digistructed his gloves, letting loose a fireball that's aimed straight at her face, not really giving a shit if he sets something on fire due to his recklessness and because she's just taken out Ross and Trottimus, something that doesn't usually just happen, not while he's still standing.

He is so sure that it'll hit, waiting for the inevitable impact with bated breath.

With a sweep of Nanosounds' hand, a hole to another dimension opens up, swallowing the fireball with a hiss. Alsmiffy tosses another one, flicking a third and fourth fireball after it. She foils him at every opportunity, seemingly opening up hole after hole, her tattoos briefly flaring purple with every exertion of her Siren powers.

Alsmiffy charges at her, giant handfuls of flames spurting out of his gloves; he's going to burn that smug grin right off her face and he's going to enjoy it. 

In his rage, he misses her outstretched foot, sending him stumbling towards Ross and Trottimus. Alsmiffy rights himself, whirling around to heave fire into her form but she grabs the back of his suit, dangling him precariously in mid-air.

"What the fuck?" He growls, the curse softened by surprise, right before she pulls him back to punch him square in the gut. 

Pain blossoms in his chest as his throat clamps shut to suppress the urge to vomit, air emptying from his lungs. 

He doubles over, dropping all notion of attacking in favor of protecting his chest from another punch to the gut. She's punching with her non-tattooed hand, but holy fucking shit, it still hurts, even if his gloves are taking the brunt of the impacts. There's no way his shield can stand up to the punches, unable to recharge in time between every hit she doles out.

Ross has freed himself from Trottimus, shaking off whatever disorientation he might have suffered earlier. Ross springs towards Nanosounds, claws extended and teeth bared. Nanosounds snags him by the shirt while he's in mid-air, swinging him straight into alsmiffy, their heads cracking on one another's skulls.

The blood flowing freely from Ross' nose smears across the lens of alsmiffy's mask. Alsmiffy sees stars, so many dots and shapes from the dizziness assaulting his vision as pain splits his head in half. Ross is groaning, scrubbing a hand over his face and beard. She's still holding onto them, keeping them upright or else they'd have toppled over.

Trottimus collapses onto a nearby couch, regaining enough of his senses to direct both his surveyors towards Nanosounds. 

Electricity crackles in the air as the two surveyors let loose twin charges of pure shock damage straight at Nanosounds. She swings alsmiffy and Ross straight into the paths of the bolts. She lets go at the last second, saving herself. Trottimus squeezes his eyes shut, dreading the inevitable.

Alsmiffy and Ross let loose identical loud shrieks of pain as they take direct hits while their shields are down.

His surveyor's charges drained, they drift back to his side to await further orders. Trottimus hastily recalls them before they can swing back around to let out another round of shock damage. Trottimus staggers to his feet as alsmiffy and Ross both twitch from where they're sprawled out on the floor.

The Siren steps over Ross, unsteadily approaching Trottimus. Trottimus flinches, expecting more pain as she draws close.

She steps past him instead, fumbling with the door.

Her calm expression shifts to a displeased frown. Trottimus leans over, unlocking the door for her and holding the door open. She steps into her room. He closes the door after her, not wasting a moment in limping over to alsmiffy and Ross.

Ross is back to normal form, his suit torn and his form bleeding in places, looking even more ruffled than usual. He's got a hand held to his nose to stem the blood still flowing from it. He tries to speak, but his words mingle so much with his sounds of pain, rendering whatever he says incoherent.

"We're retreating," Trottimus declares, his voice cracking in the middle and not because of pain. He extends a hand to alsmiffy, who's despawned his gloves.

"Damn straight we are, let's fucking get out of here." Alsmiffy takes the offered hand.

Trottimus grunts as he hauls alsmiffy up. Alsmiffy winces as the pain in his chest flares up, knowing there's going to be so much bruising from all the punches he's received. Ross shakily climbs to his feet before Trottimus or alsmiffy can give him a hand.

Once they're back at Turps' place and hidden away in one of the guest rooms (somehow managing to get in without alerting Turps to their failed late-night mission), Trottimus lets out his medical surveyor to start knitting up their wounds.

He shoves a lumpy pillow behind his back while he's getting comfortable to save himself accidentally banging tender bits of his spine on the wall. Ross and alsmiffy have dragged in rickety wooden chairs from the kitchen (despite their beat-up bodies protesting) and are sitting on them. The room fills with a surly silence as they each grow occupied with their own wounds, stripping down to the barest layers of clothing.

The two wave away the medical surveyor to let Trottimus get treated first. Ross is holding up a clean rag to his face, his nosebleed already reduced to a single trickle of blood. The rag is slowly turning a dark red but Ross doesn't remove it for fear of worsening the stains on his shirt if more blood drips down. He'll have to wash out his beard after this, not looking forward to doing so.

Alsmiffy has his shirt open, poking gingerly at the numerous bruises that have blossomed all over his abdomen.

He's going to have to use his spare gas mask since the lens on the one he's wearing is cracked and has Ross' blood smeared all over it. He doesn't like the spare gas mask since the paint job's somewhat botched on it and it's not like anyone but him can tell the difference but it's fucking annoying.

Alsmiffy turns to Ross, swiveling on his chair. Ross eyes him warily, not in the mood to pick a fight.

"That was fucking weak, especially you, Ross. She's got you whipped and you're supposed to be our main brawler!" Alsmiffy spits out.

"Maybe I like being whipped!" Ross snarls at him, the full meaning of his words sinking in a moment later. "Shit, that came out wrong."

"That might have been a little too much information," Alsmiffy says, leaning back on his chair to regard Ross with an amused smirk, adding, "You filthy bastard!" The heat's gone from his voice with the second sentence.

The silence eases into a tentative, calm one. The other two know that alsmiffy is far too burned out, currently nursing his wounded pride and ego instead of typically getting on their cases about why they'd failed and whose fault it might have been.

It's rare for him to be this quiet because he usually has energy to spare.

They take it as a sign that he's taking this just as hard as they are, probably even more so since he knows he'd been the last man standing when they'd both gone down. Ross wants to snap him out of that state but isn't sure how to do so without riling up alsmiffy. He looks down at the dirty cloth in his hand.

Without thinking, Ross lobs his blood stained rag at alsmiffy.

Alsmiffy flails for half a second. He dives from his chair onto the bed, jostling Trottimus.

Trottimus yelps as the surveyor stitches up his split lip; alsmiffy landing on the bed has caused the laser to briefly sear his cheek instead. Trottimus shoves alsmiffy off the bed in retaliation, knocking his surveyor aside. Alsmiffy goes down onto the floor with a crash and a muffled shout of pain, telling Ross to shove himself up a skag's unmentionables and to stay there and choke on its shit.

Turps sleepily curses at them from the other room, yelling at them to 'fucking settle down' and that 'some people have a busy day ahead of them so shut it!'.

Ross resists the urge to giggle. Trottimus gives him a look of suspicion, running his fingers over his newly healed lip.

The surveyor starts to work on Ross, appearing to be finished with Trottimus. Ross waves it back over to Trottimus. The surveyor may erase the physical evidence of them tangling with the Siren, but it doesn't erase the humiliation they'd experienced at her hands and the sour taste of disappointment of not being one step closer to the Vaults.

"We're never going to find a Vault," Trottimus mutters miserably, wincing as the surveyor seals shut the cut on his cheek, properly this time without any further disruptions.

"Trott, I wouldn't say that. We'll find one eventually," Ross says softly as he moves over to sling a bruised arm around Trottimus' shoulders, nudging him. "People stumble across them all the time."

"What he said," Alsmiffy says from his spread-eagled position on the floor. "We'll get there, even if we have to scam half of this fucking planet to do so," Alsmiffy fondly adds, sounding cheered up by the thought.

Their reassuring words draw a tentative smile out of Trottimus.

That's enough for the other two to be content in that Trottimus won't completely blame himself for tonight's failure. Next time, they'll be even more prepared to nab a Vault Hunter. Perhaps Will Strife would make an easier mark, but Trottimus is going to have do some research first to see if alsmiffy's hunch about Will Strife allying with the other Vault Hunter is right.

There has to be a way to get rid of Sirens, even temporarily. Trottimus pulls up one of his programs and sets it to dig up whatever it can from the ECHOnet. He'll shift through the results later, when he's not having to focus twice as hard on his HUD for words to make sense.

Ross and alsmiffy flop onto the bed on either side of him, preparing to snatch up whatever sleep they can get.

That being said, Turps had been unintentionally correct: Hat Corp. does have a big day ahead of them.

\--

Meanwhile, three figures are climbing their way up to top of a ship that's mired (but replace the mud with rusty metal supports and thin air) on top of an old bandit hangout and the remains of a mountain.

The front of the ship barely juts out over bullymong territory. The other half (due to a quirk of design, chance or time) is tilted higher than the front, lending the impression that anything could cause the ship to slide forward off its only two supportive struts and randomly come crashing down.

This doesn't stop Rythian, Teep and Ravs from using it as a rendezvous spot every once in a blue moon.

The cold air nips at Ravs and Rythian's bare skin in places but they pay it no heed, having long since grown accustomed to such brazen conditions. Ravs breathes out small ghostly puffs that the wind sweeps away. No such thing happens for Teep and Rythian.

They each pick a spot and settle down, getting comfortable.

The palm of one of Rythian's hands runs across the ship's weather-worn and dusty surface, as if to reassure himself that the ship is going to remain where it is. Teep just rolls their shoulders back, appearing to stretch while Ravs smothers a yawn with a hand.

It's dark out, but Ravs has no trouble seeing the other two silhouetted in the dark. He knows that the other two have their own methods of seeing in the dark and that if anything does happen, all he has to do is shoot wherever the other two are shooting (just like old times). 

"When was the last time we came up here?" Rythian says, letting out a quiet laugh. He's glad to stretch his legs out, preferring the spaciousness of the ship's deck to being stuck in the cramped back of a technical.

"Dunno, it has been a long time since we came up here," Ravs admits, after a beat.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Teep signs, their hands dropping on top of their knees after. Rythian can sense Teep's impatience to return to Zoeya and to get out of the cold. Teep seems to tolerate the cold for now to indulge Rythian's request to talk and isn't going to leave until the talking is done.

"I don't like how there's new Vault Hunters cropping up all over the place," Rythian begins, a look of doubt clouding his features before he continues, "Trottimus, Ross and alsmiffy seem to know what they're doing. The others are mostly reliant on me leading them to a Vault."

"I can take the three out if they're becoming a bother," Teep offers, gesturing to the sniper rifle resting on their back.

"No!" The immediate alarm and sharp denial in his own voice surprises Rythian. Rythian can feel Teep's gaze grow skeptical at his reluctance.

"If you say so," Teep responds, seeming disappointed.

Rythian forces calm into his voice as he says, "They don't seem that close to finding out where it is and how to open it. I just think they're just gathering information, like sorting out the rumors from the truth. For now." Or so he thinks, but he doesn't say that last part out loud to raise further doubts.

He also deliberately neglects to mention Will's warning. He wouldn't have been able to stop Ravs and Teep from taking out Hat Corp. in cold blood if they'd known, not quite wanting to pass up the chance to tangle with them even if they barely pose a threat.

At the back of his mind, Rythian hopes that Will's plan is working and that Nanosounds is simply scaring the three off. He doesn't quite want to ruin Ravs' bar with three bodies being found in the morning as part of the aftermath.

"They seem pretty efficient about how they're going about gathering information, like questioning people who've been on Pandora long enough," Ravs observes, his tone contemplative. "And the amount of people who've been on Pandora for so long isn't exactly huge."

"They did show up at your bar asking about my whereabouts, so I'm starting to think somebody's keeping tabs on us," Rythian says, not too thrilled about the thought of being watched despite taking great pains to lessen the chances of being tracked.

"Or started doing so again," Teep signs, appearing to share Rythian's lack of joy at being tracked.

"Or they have a very reputable source who's been feeding them information right under our noses," Rythian quietly says, looking directly at Ravs.

In the span of three seconds, shock flickers over Ravs' face (lending a grim shadow to his features) that's replaced by an unreadable, tense expression that gives way to something else.

Ravs bursts out laughing, his whole upper body shaking for a whole minute.

Even when he finally stops, the corners of his mouth twitch every now and then like he's about to break into another fit. Ravs even wipes away a tear, slowly breathing out as he tries to go back to being calm.

It takes another few seconds for him to regain the ability to speak without chuckling, Rythian and Teep waiting patiently. 

Rythian suspects Teep is about to leave if Ravs doesn't shut up soon and is only staying because of loyalty. Rythian releases a tiny sigh as if to say 'be patient'. Teep just crosses their arms over their chest. Rythian has the impression that they're rolling their eyes behind the tinted goggles.

"Rythian! You think I'm feeding them information? I know I've joked about it, but I'd never," Ravs starts, unable to keep the mirth out of his voice before he lowers his voice to a soft, serious murmur, "Never tell anybody about what happened, over my dead body. Anything to avoid history repeating itself, considering what you two went through to secure..." Ravs trails off, words failing him.

Rythian and Teep don't need any more spoken words to know exactly what he's referring to. 

Teep abruptly looks off into the distance, letting out a quiet sound of annoyance, one gloved hand curling into a fist. Ravs lets his hands fall on top of his kilt, looking sheepish.

Rythian sighs, the clothing touching his back and face are becoming scratchy and uncomfortable where it touches his skin that's suddenly too sensitive.

The skin on his back and face tingles and crawls as if tiny needles are slowly burrowing under his skin, splintering, catching and dragging on things (layers of skin, capillaries, bone, nerves) as they burrow deeper.

Without warning, the sensations ghost out of existence a second later.

He tries to forcibly drag himself back to the present and out of the past, not too keen on reliving the past while the other two are present. His momentary lapse of consciousness hasn't gone completely unnoticed since Ravs is peering closely at his face in the next second. 

Rythian didn't even notice Ravs moving (and he is helpless to stop what happen next).

"Rythian? Rythian..." He calls, but Rythian isn't hearing the rest of his words. His name has a distinct muffled quality to it like Ravs is calling to him from a distance. 

Rythian takes one deep breath after another to try to get his breathing under control. His heart's fluttering wildly in his chest, accompanied by spikes of adrenaline, creating a sense of unwanted, all-too visceral fear that shakes his sense of being to its very core. 

It rips the barrier holding his doubts back to shreds, unable to stop them from escaping and flooding his thoughts. 

He is vulnerable, weak, insignificant, a single being amongst billions in the universe who couldn't possibly hope to achieve anything outside of whatever grand scheme he's (un)knowingly part of, helpless and forced to play along with whatever machinations unfold. 

He'll drag everything and everyone down with him in his greed (search) for knowledge; one person has already paid the price for his greed and himself too, to an extent. Two near-misses with death won't satisfy the price, but perhaps the rest of the universe would satisfy (no, he's not going to go there, ever again).

His world is nothing but terror, pain and so much blood (almost all of it his) in the next second. He's reliving the memory (for what must be the hundredth time but it's like it happened yesterday). 

It is so vivid, overwhelming and rich in every detail (sight, sound, touch, taste and everything colliding with one another, layers upon layers of vicious recall staggering him back and when will it stop) that-Ravs' hand finds Rythian's own, gripping it, the physical touch grounding, an anchor Rythian instinctively hangs onto, not knowing what else to do.

Some small part of his mind that hasn't completely shut down points out that the visceral fear is only a pretense: he is still alive and not dead.

Rythian acknowledges the fear, finding his feet at last. He's long since given up on denying that the fear isn't a part of him, choosing to be reluctantly accepting of it. 

Now that he's found solid ground, he's waiting for the opportunity to claw his way back to the present once the fear has ebbed into uneasiness, not quite as crushing as before as to completely incapacitate him. 

The memory is waning, beginning to subside, the worst of it over.

Rythian finally surfaces, his head spinning from the phenomenal effort of trying to keep himself together, feeling like he's just come close to death, the flashback a sore reminder that's still raw and fresh despite the effect of time.

His hand is shaking under Ravs' warm grip. Ravs lets go once Rythian's stopped shaking.

At some point, Teep had gotten up and is currently pacing restlessly around the back of the ship, their footsteps light, almost silent. Rythian looks in their direction, the numbness left behind in his chest dying down as he manages to refocus on his surroundings. 

Ravs looks between Rythian and Teep, torn between who to go after. Rythian would have insisted he go after Teep but Teep likely doesn't want company at the moment. The two know that they'll come back when they feel like it and in their own time.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have suspected you," Rythian says once it feels like he's pieced himself back together. He looks at Ravs, a little horrified that he'd jumped to such a conclusion when it's clear that Ravs would never betray them, even if he'd stand to have something to gain in doing so.

"No, I should be apologizing for bringing it up," Ravs says, stumbling over his words but Rythian holds up a hand. He falls silent.

"It's fine. It's not like it can be helped, considering we thought we could handle it by now." It's a poor explanation, but it's all Rythian can manage at this point in time. "Apparently not." Something to work on, Rythian supposes as his hand falls into his lap. Ravs chooses not to press him any further.

"I'll go and see if Teep's fine." Ravs gets to his feet, moving to the back of the ship and leaving Rythian alone. 

Out of habit (after every nightmare, after every single time it happens), Rythian reaches for the trinket hanging on its leather cord around his neck. The bane of his existence shouldn't really serve as a coping mechanism but it's pretty much the only thing he has that's just constantly there.

Owing to the thin bandages covering his fingers, he can't quite feel the rough surface of bleached bone, but the faint impression of grooves carved into the bone fragment is comforting in its own right. The trinket is heavy and foreboding in his hand and it is strange, to have it weigh this much instead of it normally being so lightweight and unobtrusive. 

It tells him that his last flashback hadn't been recent for it to feel this alien to him.

Ravs comes back with Teep in tow. Rythian directs a concerned gaze at Teep.

"I'm fine," Teep signs, if a little haltingly, brushing off their concerns. Ravs sits down opposite Rythian.

"You sure? We can go back now, if you don't want to stay," Rythian asks, but Teep shakes their head. 

"You wanted to talk, so talk," Teep signs. "Since we made the gargantuan effort to come up here in the first place."

"If you insist," Rythian says, not wanting to argue. He has half a mind to ask if Teep is the one going behind their backs, but almost as if Teep's reading his mind, Teep gives Rythian one of their rare looks reserved for when Rythian (or Ravs) is beginning to really try their patience.

"Never mind," Rythian quickly says.

"Yeah, I fucking thought so," Teep signs. That earns them a laugh from Ravs and Rythian, somewhat restoring the mood. Rythian decides to check on Ravs.

"Ravs, you mentioned Turps being a problem?" Rythian asks. 

Ravs readily allows the change in topic. He doesn't look as troubled, but there's faint resignation in his voice. 

"Turps has been walking in and out of my bar like he already owns the place. I'm talking about the whole of Sanctuary Hole too, not just my bar," Ravs says, pausing to catch his breath before continuing, "And it's driving me up the wall. I'd been about to feign a punch just to scare him when Rythian walked in on us this morning."

"You should have seriously punched him," Teep signs.

"I can't, since it's part of the rules."

"Not like that's ever stopped you before," is Teep's response.

"You're completely missing the point of having elections in the first place if I let everyone go punch each other willy-nilly so that the last person standing wins the title," Ravs says, giving Teep a look of borderline exasperation. The air between them is relaxing further as they exchange familiar banter.

"Consider it for next time?" Rythian points out, half-jokingly.

"Rythian, no, we'll be just as bad as Lynchwood," Ravs says, "And they're the ones who duel to the death for the title of sheriff."

"So the meriff elections are deliberately not violent? I didn't think you had it in you to refrain from punching things for so long," is Teep's dryly signed comment.

"Fuck you guys, I can be peaceful when I want to be," Ravs says with a grin, throwing both his hands up into the air while laughing.

"Doesn't look like you're going to be peaceful if Turps if keeps strutting in and out of the bar and goading you. It's almost like he wants you to punch him so you disqualify yourself," Rythian observes.

"Oh, so you did hear our chat," Ravs says, appearing to not mind in the slightest at Rythian's eavesdropping. "Frankly, it's not going to work." Rythian raises both of his eyebrows at Teep. Rythian is unable to suppress a grin under his scarf, mostly because it's so rare for Ravs to be so by the book (which says a lot about how much this matters to him). 

"Right," Rythian says, careful to not sound so skeptical.

"Seriously, I can go one more day without punching Turps," Ravs insists with a confident smile on his face.

"You mentioned having a plan." Rythian recalls hearing as much from when he'd walked into the bar earlier. 

"I do have a plan, thanks for asking." This appears to restore more Ravs' confidence, to which Teep gives a slight shake of their head that Ravs pointedly ignores. "I've been stockpiling my booze for campaign emergencies like this. If I'm going to lose, I'm going out with a bang."

"You're sure prepared. For once," Teep signs with an air of sarcasm. Ravs leans over to try to cuff Teep but Teep simply moves backwards beyond Ravs' reach.

"Give me some more credit than that, I know how the elections usually go," Ravs says with a note of pride in his voice.

"Well, there's only one thing left for you to do: win," Rythian says. He don't know what will happen if Ravs loses since he's never lost before and doesn't exactly want to find out. He trusts Ravs to know what he's doing and that he has Rythian's support.

Teep, he's not so sure of. Rythian glances at Teep. Teep turns their head to coolly regard Rythian.

"What?" Teep signs at him. "Of course Ravs has my support, so long as he doesn't lose since it'd be pretty embarrassing after all that talk."

"You really mean it?" Ravs asks, looking touched. Teep gets to their feet before signing at him.

"Nah, just kidding, you're so going to lose."

Ravs lunges at Teep. Teep deftly steps behind Rythian to use Rythian as a shield. Ravs narrowly avoids crashing into Rythian, who starts. Ravs draws back, looking he's about to stand and toss Teep off the side of the ship. Rythian exhales, letting out a breath he hadn't been aware of drawing in when Ravs had moved.

"In all seriousness, Rythian, if anything happens, you need to let us know right away," Ravs says. "Especially if it involves the Siren."

"What he fucking said, preferably with ample warning," adds Teep.

"I will," Rythian promises. "Thanks."

Teep moves to the side of the ship, vaulting over the edge. Ravs nods to Rythian before following Teep down. Rythian peers out over the edge, watching the two drop to the ground without taking damage or stumbling upon landing. 

After a moment to make sure that they're clear so that he can safely land, Rythian vaults over the side to join them so they can get in his technical to drive back to Sanctuary Hole.

Ravs frowns slightly because it feels like something is off about the Crooked Caber's front door, but he's too tired to dwell on it. He tells Rythian that if Rythian's coming inside, to lock the door on his way in. Ravs waves to Teep. Teep ignores him. Ravs rolls his eyes before disappearing into the bar.

There's something Rythian had been meaning to ask Teep, remembering it at the last second. Rythian changes his mind and runs in the direction Teep had gone in. He catches up to them before they reach the gate leading down to the Caustic Caverns. 

Teep is already turning at the sound of Rythian's approach, a hand set to pull the sniper rifle from their back; upon seeing Rythian, Teep relaxes.

"What?" Teep signs with one hand, regarding Rythian with mild interest.

"You wouldn't happen to have any more skag jerky, would you?" Rythian can feel his pride dying a little under Teep's gaze. "Don't laugh, I'm serious," He adds, suddenly self-conscious at how strange his request seems, now that he's voiced it.

Teep reaches for the digistruct module hanging off their belt, withdrawing a slim, still-sealed packet that they toss to Rythian. Rythian catches it. "Didn't think you'd develop the taste for it," Teep signs to him.

"They're actually sort of good, okay," is what Rythian ends up saying, albeit belatedly.

Teep is on the other side of the gate by the time he finishes speaking. Teep pauses to give Rythian an amused shake of their head before disappearing to the lower levels of Sanctuary Hole. 

Rythian pockets the packet, pleased that the entire exchange had gone rather well.

It pains him to have to act like he and Teep don't know each other outside of their initial meeting in the Caustic Caverns. It's for the best. With Ravs, he has some leeway, but he'll have to be careful from now on to make sure that whoever is keeping tabs on them doesn't dredge up buried history and end up recreating the memory on a larger scale.

\--

Strippin and Benji waltz into Ravs' bar the following morning, much to astonishment of Will, Nanosounds and Lalna.

Rythian guesses that the other three had forgotten that he'd told the Rail Bros. about the meriff elections. That being said, he's actually surprised they turned up in the first place, figuring that they hadn't been the democratic sort. Zoeya glances at Rythian from across the bar (and he tries to look modest).

"I'm Strippin," Strippin says, gesturing to himself with a thumb before nodding at Benji, "And that's Benji."

"Nice place you got here," Benji says, taking up one of the seats at the counter next to Lalna. Benji looks around, evidently impressed. Ravs preens over this compliment before leaning over to offer a hand to Benji, then Strippin.

Strippin takes his hand with a contemplative look. Instead of letting go after the handshake, Strippin chooses to hang onto Ravs' hand, promptly turning the handshake into an arm wrestling contest.

Ravs is clearly used to this, accepting the bold challenge with nothing more than evident zeal. Benji moves his chair to the side with a scraping noise, forcing Lalna, Nanosounds, Xephos, Nilesy, Honeydew and Will to shuffle up the bar with their own chairs, each of them craning their heads to watch.

Will pulls out his notepad and pen, starting to take bets. Rythian bets on Ravs, of course. The others are evenly split between supporting Strippin or Ravs. Zoeya puts her money on both, starting a heated debate with Will over whether or not she's allowed to do so.

In the end, Will observes that it's her money and there's no formal rules barring such once Teep draws close to see what the fuss is about. Zoeya beams at Will for his generosity, oblivious.

Will mock grumbles as returns to the contest.

Strippin and Ravs are wearing identical expressions of deep concentration. They're struggling to gain an advantage while maintaining their own as to avoid yielding a sudden move that might tip the scales in their opponent's favor.

The two have abandoned their chairs to stand, elbows planted firmly on the surface of the counter with a slight tremor to their grappling hands from all the effort they're exerting.

As the contest draws on, a crowd of Ravs' regulars are starting to cluster around the two, letting out encouraging hoots, shouts and whistles (with a few wholeheartedly supporting Strippin, including Nilesy). 

The noise level starts to rise as Ravs and Strippin begin to struggle as their endurance starts flagging; still, the two remain locked in a stalemate. Lalna and Nanosounds haven't given up on Ravs, their voices beginning to go hoarse.

Rythian spots one of Trottimus' surveyors hovering overhead near the ceiling.

A searching glance confirms that Trottimus is present, looking a little worse for wear but is in one piece. Trottimus doesn't seem to be up to anything nefarious (aside from supporting Strippin), not even noticing Rythian watching him. He doesn't see the other two members of Hat Corp., which is somewhat worrying.

In the middle of all this, Xephos pushes through the crowd to stand next to Honeydew. Xephos tugs on Honeydew's hand, whispering to him once they have his attention. He stops cheering to listen intently to whatever Xephos has to say. 

After a moment, Honeydew climbs down from the counter and is conversing with Xephos; Xephos walks over Rythian and Teep, wringing their hands nervously, back straight and head held high.

Teep is standing right next to Rythian at the edge of the crowd. The two have vague hopes that Strippin can beat Ravs so that Ravs' ego takes a hit.

Teep and Rythian don't need to be at the center of the event to have a good view of how Ravs is faring against Strippin. Xephos is watching Teep with an intensity that Rythian's never seen before, Xephos usually proving calm and quietly anxious in the few times Rythian's seen them. Honeydew looks apprehensive.

Of course Teep would be interested, already unfolding their arms from across their chest and giving Xephos their full attention. If Rythian hadn't been so well acquainted with Teep, he would have missed the bloodthirsty edge that's now in the air. It's so slight, but it's there.

Xephos gestures to the front door, clearly intending on having a conversation outside. Rythian darts a glance at the crowd; the contest is still continuing strong.

Rythian moves with the intent of intervening but Teep's head sharply turns to regard him. Teep moves to stand in front of him so he can't confront Xephos. A message pops up in the corner of his HUD. Rythian reads it without taking his gaze off of Teep.

> I got this.

"Are you sure?" Rythian asks, deliberately keeping his voice quiet. He trusts Teep, but he's not dreading where this is going.

> It's not about the Vaults, if that's what you were worried about.  
>They want something else.

Rythian waves away whatever ill thoughts he might have had towards Xephos and Honeydew in that instance. He steps back, finally understanding and feeling a little foolish for butting in. His gaze drifts to Teep's shield hanging off their belt before going up to Teep's face. 

Xephos patiently waits, their mouth pressed in a thin line. Honeydew uneasily shifts from foot to foot, looking from them to Xephos.

> I'll let you know how it goes.

"Please do," Rythian says, silently wishing them luck (not that Teep needs it).

Teep leaves with Xephos and Honeydew, their departures going unnoticed by everyone else save for him. Rythian spies Xephos raising a hand to issue a duel challenge to Teep before the door to the Crooked Caber closes. Rythian is torn between following from a distance or staying. One of his hands rests on the teleporter slung on one of his belt loops. A new message from Teep pops up.

> Don't even think of fucking following.

Okay, then. He's not happy about being told to stand down but he'll respect it.

A crack followed by the sound of a bodily 'thud' resonates through the air, followed by two shouts.

The noise level grows so loud that Rythian winces, covering up his ears with both of his hands until it drops down again. He peers over the crowd, guessing that the arm wrestling contest has just finished. Ravs and Strippin are shaking hands. Ravs claps Strippin on the shoulder, Strippin grinning. 

Judging from their slightly disappointed but nonetheless, pleased expressions, the contest had ended in a draw.

"Free drinks! Don't forget to vote for me in the meriff elections!" Ravs roars and the crowd goes wild.

"Ah, so that's what he was planning," Rythian muses to himself. He has to hand to Ravs to know when and how to deliver. Lalna elbows his way through the crowd towards Rythian, bearing drinks in both of his hands. 

"Here you go!" Lalna says, shouting to be heard above the general din. Rythian is about to decline since he doesn't drink in public, but he realizes Lalna is trying to make amends for the incident out in the Dust with the technicals. He takes the drink, much to Lalna's satisfaction.

"Is this for wrecking my technical?" Rythian says. Lalna's grin falters; Rythian hadn't meant to snipe at him, having long since put the incident behind him. "I didn't mean it in that way, it was a joke," He hastily explains. "You've already apologized and the technical's fixed..." 

He trails off when Lalna looks like he doesn't believe him. 

"I'm sorry. For overreacting back there," Rythian finishes in what he feels is a rather lame manner.

He really does mean the apology though, regretting letting his temper flare up out of control back there even more so now.

Lalna perks up, his grin returning in full force. "It's cool," He says, sounding mollified. "That'll teach me to tinker without letting you know first so you can schedule repairs in advance."

"You have your own technical now," Rythian points out.

"True," Lalna concedes, letting the conversation lapse into a comfortable silence between the two of them. 

They end up moving to the second floor due to the crowd expanding as word of Ravs' free drinks spreads throughout the town. Rythian and Lalna take one of booths. Rythian fills up his flask with the drink while Lalna nurses his in between sips. 

In his miscellaneous inventory, Rythian comes across the scrap of white cloth he'd cut from Lalna's lab coat. Under his scarf, he bites his lip (not so hard that he draws blood and because he knows just how sharp his teeth are), suppressing a chuckle since he'd forgotten entirely about it. 

He takes it out, sliding it across the table to Lalna.

Lalna scrutinizes it closely, seemingly perplexed by what it is. Rythian watches with growing amusement as he steadily grows more confused.

"I give up, what is it?" Lalna asks, slumping back in his seat, eying Rythian with mild frustration.

"It's the bit I cut from your lab coat," Rythian explains as he gestures to said lab coat trailing off the seat that Lalna is sitting on. "Back when you got stuck on the technical." It takes almost of his will to not start laughing in that moment, choosing to spare Lalna the extra embarrassment.

"Oh, so that's what it is!" Lalna sits up, his hand grabbing it off the table and pulling his lab coat into his lap to try to align the jagged edges together. "Why did you even keep it?" He asks with a laugh.

Rythian doesn't know how to respond, not expecting Lalna to ask why he'd kept it. "I just didn't think of throwing it away, considering everything else that was going on at the time," He finally settles on saying.

"Thanks, I might be able to find someone to sew this back on for me." Lalna sounds pleased, causing Rythian to turn away, a little embarrassed at how well-received the gesture had been. Lalna puts away the scrap.

The two watch everyone else slowly get drunk (and it's only morning). Rythian has a feeling that Strippin and Benji are going to leave thoroughly plastered, judging by how they're appreciating the drinks pressed on them.

He hopes they'll use the new Fast Travel Station to get home safely (after voting for Ravs, that is).

\--

"Your campaign of cat posters and installing a new Fast Travel Station hasn't worked in winning the hearts of the good folk of Sanctuary Hole," Turps says to Nilesy.

Nilesy coolly regards Turps over top of his glasses. Nilesy adjusts the meriff banner slung over his shoulder and over his chest, not at all bothered by Turps' statement.

"How would you know? I haven't seen you do anything outside of dressing up as a cowboy and spouting hot air," Nilesy retorts.

"I'll have you know that this is sheriff clothing and not a cowboy's!" Turps steps forwards.

"It's hard to tell the difference unless you're up close." Ravs says, stepping forwards to put himself in between the two before inspecting Turps. "Also, purple isn't really a meriff's color compared to tartan."

"I agree," Nilesy says. He and Ravs share a laugh as Turps mutters under his breath about 'tartan not being a proper color'. Turps moves to stand with Trottimus, Ross and alsmiffy who are gathered opposite Rythian, Will, Lalna and Nanosounds.

They're all standing outside of Sanctuary Hole's walls, close to the power core building. If a fight does break out over the announced result, any damage doesn't directly destroy the town's foundations and buildings or get any civilians caught in the crossfire.

Ravs is holding an ECHO device, the frequency tuned to FyreUK's radio channel. The radio is currently blaring some sort of pop music that's likely pirated, given that the outer world's influence doesn't quite extend to Pandora in terms of simple luxuries and goods.

Xephos and Honeydew are nowhere to be seen.

Rythian really, really hopes that Xephos and Honeydew aren't dead (despite making his life easier in that it's two less people after the Vaults). He spots two figures drawing closer, one supporting a limping one at the entrance arch of the town.

Honeydew gives him a thumbs-up, jostling Xephos who is slung over his back, their feet dragging on the ground. Rythian isn't sure how to respond, so he just nods and lets them leave.

Xephos buries their face in Honeydew's hat. Honeydew carts Xephos off, presumably to the Crooked Caber to let Xephos rest and get medical attention. Rythian mentally thanks Teep for not outright killing Xephos and turns his attention back to the current situation.

Xephos had seemed a little beaten up but that's about the extent of their injuries from what Rythian had been able to make out.

At last, the music blasting from the ECHO stops, giving way to a jovial pair of voices, mingling with static but otherwise, audible. Everybody's attention zeros in on the device, straining their hearing to catch every single word.

"Good afternoon Pandora's northwestern coast, this is FyreUK, hosted by iFirez and BruteAlmighty! I'm iFirez, who you all know as Matt, speaking to you live from the Arid Nexus!"

"And I'm Phil, otherwise known as BruteAlmighty!" A jingle plays before Phil continues his cheerful spiel, "We have a very special announcement regarding the meriff election happening at Sanctuary Hole. Today is the last day of the elections and the votes have just come in, courtesy of the ECHOnet voting system."

"We have three candidates. There's Ravs, who's the current standing meriff and has been ever since he set up shop (pun not intended) in Sanctuary Hole."

"And Nilesy, who's all the way from Oasis and bravely entered at the last minute to even the playing field between Ravs and the last candidate, Turps!" There's a rustle of papers, followed by frantic whispers. One of the FyreUK's hosts coughs sheepishly.

"Oh dear, we appear to have mislaid Turps' biography," is Matt's confession. "And after he took the time to write out such a good one, too."

"Sorry Turps!" says Phil.

"Oh, for the love of," Turps groans, with a facepalm. Ravs smirks as Nilesy elbows him in a half-hearted attempt to be quiet. An unmistakable snicker breaks out amongst Hat Corp., causing Turps send a glare their way. They fall silent, but nudge one another, each of them sporting grins.

"Well, Ravs, it looks like you've just lost the title of meriff to Turps, who's won by a milestone!" The rest of the broadcast is turned off by Ravs. Ravs stares at his ECHO for a long moment. He pockets it.

"What?!" Nilesy screams before anybody else can react. Nilesy turns on the spot to confront Turps (who is sporting the biggest grin on his face and looking very smug). "You cheated! You rigged the votes! There's no way you could have won!"

"Hey, now, I won fair and square, you heard the radio guys announce it!" Hat Corp. moves to cover Turps, forcing Nilesy step back as they pull out guns.

"Seems a little rude to accuse the new meriff of cheating, doesn't it?" Alsmiffy quips, looking to Trottimus and Ross for support. The two murmur their agreements.

In response, Nanosounds steps forward, the purple of her tattoos standing out in the afternoon sun. She pulls out an SMG, training it on Ross.

Hat Corp. regards her warily, but don't lower the guns they'd pulled out.

One of Trottimus' surveyors digistructs over his shoulder, ascending to hover above his head, a single blue light trailing down to Trottimus, charging his shield up to maximum capacity. It moves to charge alsmiffy and Ross' shields before wheeling away to the sky well out of firing range.

Rythian hasn't forgotten Will's warning about Hat Corp., so he moves to back up Nanosounds. Ravs hadn't appeared to notice his bar being broken into by the three. After a private discussion, Rythian Lalna, Nanosounds and Will had decided to keep that fact secret, not wanting Ravs to lose out on being meriff if he chooses to pick a fight with them.

That doesn't really apply now.

"I'd like to see the numbers," Nilesy demands.

"FyreUK has the numbers, not me," Turps replies. "Besides, it'll only depress you."

"What did you promise to get so much support?" Nilesy presses, stepping forward.

"Oh, just better town growth, a little bit of remodeling, this and that," Turps says, vaguely waving a hand in the air. This infuriates Nilesy.

Nilesy moves to grab Turps, but Ross moves, the butt of his gun hitting Nilesy in the chest, hard.

Nilesy stumbles backwards with a sound of pain. Will lunges forward to grab Nilesy by the arm and pull him back to safety, pressing a shield into Nilesy's hands. Nilesy protests, but the sound is lost as both sides move to engage.

Right at that moment, Trottimus' surveyor bursts into flames overhead. Everyone looks up to the sight, forgetting about fighting in favor of watching it spiral down and come to a crash on the ground between both sides.

Trottimus just lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with a hand. He should really do something about that to stop that from happening.

Turps takes off his hat, holding it to his chest in a gesture of mourning.

Trottimus despawns the destroyed one, digistructing another surveyor (with a different paint job) that stays close to him this time. Both sides return to pointing guns at each other upon remembering to do so.

Ravs steps forward, into the middle.

"Hold it," He says, far too calmly for Rythian's liking.

"Ravs, just let us kick these guys out and then you can be meriff again," Nanosounds says, looking eager to fight.

"Yeah, you know they cheated somehow," Nilesy says from behind Will and Lalna. Lalna is hiding behind Rythian.

"I didn't cheat!" Turps squawks in an indignant tone from behind alsmiffy.

"Yeah, we've been supervising Turps! He hasn't gone anywhere outside of Sanctuary Hole the whole time!" Trottimus shouts.

"That's a lie, you're just the hired help, so of course you'll say anything to get paid!" is Nanosounds' heated response.

"You calling us liars?" Ross sneers. "Did you hear that, she thinks we're liars! The nerve!" Trottimus tuts at this, giving a slow shake of his head. Alsmiffy digistructs their gloves, small jets of flame escaping from the vents on their gloves.

More accusations, jabs and barbs growing steadily outrageous and ridiculous fill the air; the tension is so thick that Rythian could have cut it with a knife. He's watching Ravs with a mixture of worry and fear. Ravs seems outwardly calm. Rythian sees him draw a shotgun from somewhere, pointing it up to the sky and pulling the trigger once, apparently having grown tired of the bickering.

The sound reverberates across the open ground, dissipating the tension and earning him sudden silence (just as he'd intended).

"Turps is right. He won fair and square," Ravs says. He puts away the gun, moving to extend a hand to Turps. Turps walks over, a little shocked.

He takes Ravs hand. Ravs doesn't even try to crush Turps' hand, shaking it once and letting go before turning to address everyone else in a steady voice. "I, Ravs, hereby officially stand down as the meriff of Sanctuary Hole and hand the keys over to this magnificent ride over to Turps who is the new meriff from hereon."

"Thank you," Turps says in a hushed tone, regarding Ravs with a look of newfound respect.

Rythian doesn't pay much attention to Turps' victory speech (delivered over the local ECHO broadcasting system), already moving after Ravs back to the Crooked Caber.

The others reluctantly follow (Will and Nilesy throwing dirty looks at Turps and Hat Corp. over their shoulders before following). They stop at the foot of the stairs leading up to the second floor, unsure whether or not to follow Ravs upstairs.

Only Rythian runs up the stairs after Ravs, barely managing to catch Ravs in time. One of Ravs' hand curls on the frame of the door, holding it slightly ajar so he can talk to Rythian.

"I'm closing up early tonight," He quietly informs Rythian. "You and the others are free to stay, but don't make too much of a mess."

"Ravs," Rythian starts, about to say more when Ravs shakes his head.

"At any other time, I'd love your company," Ravs says, managing a small chuckle at his failed attempt at flirting that unpleasantly twists Rythian's gut, "But I'm not just not feeling like it right now."

"If you need anything, we're downstairs," Rythian softly tells him. Ravs gives Rythian a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, gently closing the door to his room and shutting Rythian out.

Rythian stares at the door for a few moments, lingering, but puts the thought of intruding on Ravs' desire to be alone out of his mind at last, with difficulty. He heads back downstairs to report as much, feeling like he's failed Ravs in some way.

"And now, as per one of my election promises, I lift the former meriff's ban on the Blood Bandits taking up residence..." Outside, Turps' voice drones on over the loudspeakers.

\--

On the same night the meriff elections end, a technical rolls up and stops near the arch leading into Sanctuary Hole. Elpis is inching its way across the sky (accompanied as usual by the giant H-shaped space station hovering in front of it). Trottimus, alsmiffy and Ross climb out of the technical, approaching the building containing the power core to the town.

Turps is waiting by the power core that's slowly humming and rotating in its compartment. Turps is fidgeting, his arms crossed over his chest. He jumps when the three appear out of the darkness.

"Lovely evening," He says with a note of unhappiness in his voice, managing to recover and seem nonchalant about the purpose of this meeting.

"Indeed it is," Trottimus agrees, looking up to the stars twinkling in the night sky above their heads. "Couldn't have picked a better night, right?"

Ross gives Turps a wolfish grin. "It is a lovely night." Turps very carefully avoids looking at Ross' eyes, which have a reflective sheen to them. Turps does however, make sure he's wearing a (tight) smile as to not appear rude.

"Which just makes this even better because taking things in the middle of a snowstorm or meteorite shower doesn't quite have the same feel to it," Alsmiffy says with a laugh.

"The money's in the suitcase on the table, so take it and go before anybody sees," Turps says, not wanting to prolong the meeting any more than he has to. Indeed, there is a steel suitcase sitting on the table behind him. Trottimus tosses a small, hand-held device to Ross, who catches it in one hand as he moves towards the suitcase. 

"Ooh, classy, traditional silver suitcase and everything! Better not be a bomb inside, because you know, that's happened before and you don't want to know what happened to the last prick who tried that," Alsmiffy says as if he's talking about the weather.

"I ripped both his arms clean off, right?" Ross says, recalling the memory with evident fondness. "And a leg when he tried to scamper off to the cops!"

"Yeah, that one!" Alsmiffy snaps his fingers, but the effect of his gloves renders the sound muted. "It took us a bloody week to clean the carpet! You could say that the job cost him an arm and a leg in the end!"

Ross starts howling with laughter. Alsmiffy is laughing as well, almost doubled over. Trottimus looks on with disdain, but doesn't do anything to stop them. The sounds don't travel far across the ground towards Sanctuary Hole and it's late enough in the night so that any shouting won't draw any attention to them.

"Disgusting," Trottimus mutters, under his breath so that the other two don't hear him. "Please pretend you didn't hear that," He says to Turps in a louder voice. "Or let that get out on the ECHOnet since we'd like to keep our five star customer rating." Turps nods, swallowing his nausea as best as he can.

The scan comes up clean.

Ross tosses the device back to Trottimus (who wordlessly stashes it in his inventory). Ross opens the suitcase, flipping it around on the table to alsmiffy who starts to rapidly count the money contained inside, the notes flying under his fingers. Stack after stack is appraised.

"Looks like he hasn't pulled a fast one on us," Alsmiffy eventually concludes with the tiniest, disappointed sound, tucking the last stack of bills into their proper place and closing the suitcase. Ross takes the suitcase, letting it hang loosely from one hand.

"Right, so now you'll be on your way and we can-" Turps moves to escort them off the platform but alsmiffy is in front of him in the next second, brandishing a Dahl rifle that's pointed at Turps' chest. "Pretend this never happened," Turps finishes lamely, both of his hands automatically coming up to show that he's not holding a gun.

"I think you're forgetting something," Alsmiffy calmly points out, nudging the barrel so that the cold metal kisses the skin under Turps' chin.

"A very important something," Ross echoes, eying the power core next to Turps.

"Are you renegading on our deal, Turps? After we so kindly rigged the votes to help you win?" says Trottimus. "Well, talk about cheeky. We didn't think you had it in you."

"No, not at all!" Turps hurriedly says, feeling sweat start to permeate his shirt under his coat and his forehead under the brim of his hat.

"Hoping we'd forget to take the power core with us, didja?" Alsmiffy crows.

Turps can't think of anything to say in response because alsmiffy is right. Turps' mind is blank with fear, his eyes drawn to the gun in alsmiffy's hands.

"So what are you waiting for, give us the core already!" Ross shouts, causing alsmiffy to press the gun further up, fingers shifting to ready a pull of the trigger.

"All right, no need to shout!" Turps shouts back at him, the desperate desire to stay alive overturning his churning conscience. 

The barrel of the rifle drops from his chin.

Instead, alsmiffy impatiently nudges him in the shoulder with the Dahl rifle in the way of encouragement. Turps' hands are shaking as he disengages the power core. It stops spinning, the glow dying as it's removed, the machinery grinding to a halt with a hiss.

Trottimus scoops the power core up, juggling it from one hand to another due to the heat rolling off it. It's carefully tucked into his inventory. Overhead, the night sky shimmers as the protective shield dies. Nobody else is awake to see this happen. The sinking feeling in Turps' gut grows.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Alsmiffy cheerfully says, putting away the rifle.

"Hope there'll be a town left for you to preside over tomorrow," Trottimus says, giving Turps a pleased smirk. He strides off into the dark, Ross and alsmiffy following.

"Too bad you developed a bloody conscience at the wrong time!" Alsmiffy yells over his shoulder.

"Good one!" Ross says. "Don't forget to review us on our website!" Ross quickly adds.

They pile into their technical. Turps watches their technical speed off over the bridge and out of sight. He sinks onto the lone chair near the table, taking his hat off and scrubs his still sweating face with a hand.

He hopes Ravs doesn't find out about this.

\--

"They stole the power core," Ravs flatly says, after storming into his bar with stormy expression. Turps is right on his heels, looking immensely worried. Alarmed heads look up to regard the two as the front door to the bar slams shut.

"What?" Rythian asks, sliding out of his seat to walk over to Ravs.

"Are you fucking serious?" Teep signs. Teep gets to their feet as well, accompanying Ravs, Rythian and Turps into the bar's back room. The others cluster around the doorway, throwing confused and worried looks at one another over this development.

"After all the effort to get you one that would last you for months," Rythian says, barely remembering to rephrase the sentence to drop the 'we' from it. "Ravs, how did this happen?"

"And this is why I don't let just anybody waltz into Sanctuary Hole!" Ravs shouts as he starts to pace madly. "Hat Corp. took off with the power core, that's what!"

"Didn't Turps hire them in the first place?" Will points out from the doorway, fixing Turps with a suspicious look. "So maybe we should ask him about it?" 

Will hasn't forgotten how they'd treated him; while he's grateful that Turps has stepped in, it's largely his fault that Hat Corp. had even turned up in the first place and thus, should be held accountable. Or maybe he's just biased.

Ravs stops pacing. He turns to Turps, looking positively murderous. Turps flinches under the force of his glare.

"I had nothing to do with it," Turps denies, holding both of his hands up in a placating gesture even as his conscience turns in its grave. "I didn't even know they wanted the power core in the first place!" He adds, making sure that he sounds as outraged as possible.

"You do not want to find out what will happen if I did find out you had something to do with it," Ravs says in a low voice, the fingers of one hand curling into a fist, loudly cracking his knuckles. 

Some of the rage has bled out of his voice at Turps' denial as he appears to believe Turps having no involvement. Turps seizes the chance to deliver an olive branch.

"Look, I got a contact in Lynchwood who may know where you can track down a new one," Turps says. "Stuff passes through Lynchwood all the time."

Ravs exhales. Turps' offer of help motivates him to tamp his rage as down as best as he can so he doesn't end up lashing out further.

"Excuse me," Nanosounds says. Ravs turns his gaze on her. She doesn't flinch like Turps had. She draws herself up straighter, a look of determination on her face. Ravs feels a little guilty for glaring at her. His expression softens, his posture relaxing.

"Why do you need a power core that badly?" Nanosounds asks, also relaxing when she sees that he's not going to shout at her. Ravs moves to collapse onto the battered couch in the room, trying to decide how he'll go about explaining.

Nilesy starts to explain for him. "Ravs has an agreement with the bandits in this area to stay away as to not scare the folks living here." Ravs tosses a grateful look in his direction that Nilesy acknowledges with a nod. 

Someone (likely Zoeya) tosses a bottle of rakk ale at Ravs. Ravs snatches it out of mid-air, uncapping it so he can drink half the contents in one go, the alcohol smothering whatever is left of his rage at the stolen power core.

"I didn't even think it was possible to reason with bandits like that," Will notes, giving Ravs a look of admiration.

"You're staring at a former bandit," Teep signs to Will. Ravs gives Teep a dirty look. Teep shrugs, unaffected. "What are you worried about? You haven't been a bandit in years, so of course it stands you'd be mostly reasonable." The last part comes off as sarcastic.

Ravs is glad that the rakk ale doing its job, so he remains seated for now so he doesn't end up losing his temper so soon again. Nilesy looks to him, unsure whether or not to continue. Ravs takes over explaining.

"Anyways, the ones that didn't agree, I sort of went in and wiped out their camps to get them to move away." At this point in the explanation, Ravs laughs. It sounds hollow. "It led to bad blood developing between me and them. So every now and again, they take their Buzzards and make a bombing run to try to wreck the place, figuring that if they can't have it, nobody else can."

"And it's only a matter of time before they find out this place has no shield," Nilesy finishes. All around him, the ones who weren't aware of the power core's function are looking shocked, eyes wide and mouths hanging open.

"Thank you, that clears up a lot of things," Nanosounds finally says.

"We'd better get moving then," Lalna says.

"I'll let my contact know you're coming." Turps quickly leaves the room, pulling out his ECHO as he goes. "See if I can get them to dig up core for you to pick up..."

Ravs waits until Turps has gone before getting up and closing the back door. He turns to them, looking on edge.

"Now that he's gone, I have another job for you on top of finding a power core," Ravs says.

"What is it?" Rythian asks, curious about what other job Ravs has to for them in that he couldn't openly speak in front of Turps.

"I need you to check on the Bloody Bandits living at the dam in Three Horns Valley. I overheard that Turps is planning to let them into the town."

"And that's a bad thing?" Lalna asks.

"I've seen bandits move in. Places just become lawless and absolutely nigh impossible to live in." Ravs grimaces.

"He's right, you know," Nilesy says. "You've seen the pirates at Hayter's Folly. That's just one of the countless examples on Pandora."

Lalna gives a nod of understanding, biting his lower lip. "Okay."

"I haven't heard from their leader, who usually drops by for a drink every now and then. They get the need to stay out of my town and keep their fellows in line. But if the Bloody Bandits are planning on moving in, a new leader must have overthrown them so my agreement no longer stands." Ravs heaves a tired sigh after explaining.

"So, you want us to kill them?" Will says, having puzzled out what Ravs wants. Ravs looks at him, the corner of his mouth turning upwards in a crooked smile.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't kill them, just kindly remind them that Ravs is still around and that he'd appreciate them staying clear of Sanctuary Hole or face the consequences." Ravs shrugs. "Feel free to start shooting if negotiations go sour though, since that's how things are on Pandora." 

Ravs delivers the last sentence in a matter-of-fact tone, which is a little unsettling to Lalna (who's more used to things being worked out in a more civil, drawn out manner and with considerably less bullets). 

The cold-blooded nature of the job is also something he doesn't quite like. It's a little disturbing for the others (Rythian especially) to simply accept the job without argument. Lalna thinks he might just be being naive about the entire thing, but still. Nobody else appears to have noticed his discomfort, much to his relief. 

He wipes it from his face, adopting an attentive expression as to look like he's listening.

"If we have time," Rythian says, moving towards the back door. 

"The power core is the priority. You can also try searching the dam for the power core since the Bloody Bandits are scavengers." Ravs stands, finishing off the last of the rakk ale as the room slowly empties of people. He's about to leave to put out the high-alert warning and hit up his contacts list when Honeydew appears at his side, looking serious. 

Ravs hadn't even noticed Xephos and Honeydew being in the room the entire time, the two having stuck to the back and remaining quiet (whether due to wanting to avoid being targeted by his rage or lack of desire to speak up, he doesn't know).

"We want to help," Honeydew firmly says, looking stubborn, his hands planted on both his hips.

He's craning his head back so that he can directly look up at Ravs. Ravs has half a mind to laugh and tussle Honeydew's hair under his hat; the sight of Honeydew assuming such a stance is amusing but he doubts Honeydew will appreciate any fawning gestures on Ravs' part. 

Ravs looks to Xephos instead, wanting to hear what Xephos has to say just in case Xephos is of a different mind. 

To his surprise, Xephos looks as resolute as Honeydew. The effect is ruined partly by the large bruise and tiny half-healed nicks on their face. Ravs wonders what happened but decides it's none of his business. He'll have to point out the medical vending machine near the edge of town out to them later.

"You've helped us ever since we got stranded on Pandora," Xephos says. Ravs notes that Xephos' eyes are the exact same color as Rythian's (the implants likely sourced from same manufacturer).

"So let us help you in return," Honeydew pleads.

Well, Ravs definitely can't say 'no', especially with the look Honeydew is giving him. Plus, they've lasted on Pandora for this long, so he might as well trust them with helping out and being able to hold their own. The more teams he can send out to search for a power core, the sooner they'll find one.

"All right," Ravs says with a shake of his head. "But don't put yourself in too much danger for this town, since I have no idea how much longer it's going to stay standing." It hurts to have to say that, to admit after all his effort, Sanctuary Hole is sort of fucked.

Anyways, he's going to hang onto the hope that where there's a will, there's a way, if that's how the saying goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter clocks in at around 20,500 something words.
> 
> this chapter also took longer than planned due to the amount of research i did for pstd to ensure that depicting it was as accurate as possible. i rewrote the scene constantly until it came out the way i wanted it to. the issue of ptsd is something i plan to explore for this au, particularly for rythian (and to an extent, teep and ravs) and how it affects his relationships and life.
> 
> i've dropped hints about rythian having ptsd in previous chapters but this chapter is basically the first where he actually does have a flashback (outside of nightmares). i haven't touched upon the events that led to him developing it, but it will come up in the future because it ties into explaining some of his behaviors (such as preferring long range tactics, deliberately avoiding civilization and generally being more cautious than he has to be).
> 
> it'll also be interesting to explore how he manages to continue coping considering he's accompanied by other people and that pandora isn't exactly the best environment for aiding recovery and management of ptsd. i hope i've adequately managed to explain my thoughts involved in writing the scene.
> 
> others won't be as kind to rythian (pandora certainly hasn't been). 
> 
> alsmiffy goes by 'they/them' and 'he/him'. the latter only applies if hatfilms are directly referring to him while everybody else uses 'they/them' for alsmiffy since they've never seen alsmiffy unmasked (while ross and trottimus have) or know what alsmiffy prefers in the way of pronouns. i await the day alsmiffy and teep meet because it's going to be amazing. again, if i've stuffed up somewhere with pronouns (for alsmiffy or xephos or teep), please let me know so i can fix it.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed ross' action skill but it's too bad nanosounds interrupted him or else some major shit would have gone down. i do have skill trees written out for hatfilm since they're technically vault hunters. that being said, rythian and will also have skill trees! i am more than happy to post them if asked to since i'm very lazy to post them otherwise.
> 
> there are three doodles for this chapter. they have been separated into three different posts for coherency and they can be found over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/beyond-the-borderlands%3A-rythian%27s-journal)! THEY HAVE BEEN DRAWN BY THE LOVELY SIINS AS USUAL.
> 
> there's a poll over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/post/126738683964/poll) that you should go and check out; it's important to where the next chapter is headed in terms of plot so go and check that out! AND VOTE.
> 
> comments, feedback, pointing out typos and etc. are appreciated! tagging with 'borderlandscast' on tumblr will guarantee it being seen 8) .
> 
> thank you for reading this. this author's note is hilariously long so if you've managed to read the fic and this, go get yourself a cookie or something nice! you deserve it, seriously.


	6. Crisis To Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> expect the usual violence involving guns. BUT SURPRISE, there's body horror, thoughts of and a near-miss with self-mutilation involving a knife in this chapter. there is also some peer pressure regarding talk of ptsd in the same part so be sure to keep that in mind. there's also mentions of suicide here and there in this chapter, particularly near the beginning and end. again, please take care when reading and heed the warnings.

The others turn to Rythian, awaiting for his decision on where they should go. For single moment, he doubts his own ability to make a decision, wondering if he'll contribute directly to Sanctuary Hole's demise if he chooses wrong. 

If anything, when Ravs had first shown up to this place, he'd single-handedly transformed the rubble and ruins into the town it currently is; whether or not Ravs is up to rebuilding after its second destruction is something else altogether.

Ravs strides past him out of the back room, his expression considerably less thunderous than when he'd stormed into the bar.

As much as Rythian would love to deny it, he feels obligated to help track down a new power core (noting with some irony that it's come to this after having found and provided one in the first place). 

Rythian will have to quickly decide between Lynchwood and the Three Horns Valley, the two locations neither easy to infiltrate or leave considering the inhabitants and who's presiding over them.

Right when he's about to ask the others for their opinions, Turps walks back into the bar. There's an optimistic smile plastered on his face which nothing but the worse of news could wipe off. He saunters on over, the metal spurs on his boots clinking softly as he makes his way across the mostly empty bar towards them. 

He stops by the bar where they're all seated, leaning an elbow atop the counter.

"I got news, everyone!" He proudly declares, appearing smug as he tilts his hat back on his head with a hand and tossing a casual gaze at every Vault Hunter acknowledging him with slight, curious tilt to their heads.

"Better be good news," Will mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing Turps an unimpressed look from where he's standing at the bar.

Turps seems only more pleased with himself, oblivious to Will's unhappiness. "I didn't say this before, but my contact's the sheriff of Lynchwood. They'll let you in without a problem and give you a hand in tracking down the power core!" He delivers this news with the same gusto as announcing that he had news.

"So that's definitely good news," Nanosounds mildly says, peering at Rythian to see what he'll do with this new piece of information.

Lalna cranes his head to watch Rythian as well. Lalna is nervously chewing on his bottom lip. Will's glance darts to Rythian before falling back on Turps. Turps appears to have picked up that Rythian's the leader and is watching him, waiting patiently.

Rythian is busy dredging up what he remembers of Lynchwood.

It's fairly infamous for its former cutthroat sheriff, judging by all the bodies strung up outside of the town entrance gate the last time he'd passed by. Rythian had been acutely aware of the risks in even passing close to the gate but at the time, there had been no other way to fill out his map without actually setting foot inside Lynchwood.

If Lynchwood is indeed under new management, Rythian supposes that it's worth checking it out first. Visiting Three Horns Valley can wait, seeing as it'll take a while to coordinate that many bandits to make the move from there to Sanctuary Hole, which buys them a little more time. Ravs will understand; he'd even stressed the power core being a greater priority.

"We're going to Lynchwood," Rythian calmly decides, firmly convincing himself that it's the correct move (even though he very well knows that there isn't a 'right' or 'wrong' choice to make).

"Excellent! I'll go tell Ravs and my contact you're headed to Lynchwood, then." Turps sends them the Fast Travel code to Lynchwood before turning on his heel and clinking back the way he came. The Crooked Caber's front door somehow closes on his coat, forcing him to open the door again to free it. His curse is cut in half as he shuts the door after freeing himself. Will hides a satisfied smirk by hastily turning it into a fake-sounding cough.

Rythian looks around the room to try to find Xephos and Honeydew to ask them to head off to Three Horns Valley in their stead.

The two have mysteriously vanished. Rythian has the sneaking suspicion that they hadn't listened to whatever he'd said about not going after the Vaults. He would have originally have kicked himself for not making sure they're more well aware of the risks. He thinks that he's done all he can to absolve himself of any guilt that results from their inability to listen if they come to any harm.

Still, he'll track them down later, just to be sure that they haven't gotten into something way over their heads while gallivanting about.

With a new destination in mind, the four of them leave the bar, comfortable with Rythian's decision (no objections raised upon his asking) to head off to Lynchwood and are halfway across Sanctuary Hole when Nilesy barges out of the bar, the door slamming shut behind him with a loud clang of metal.

"Mister Strife!" Will turns at the sound of his name, surprise and curiosity flickering over his features, one after the other until it settles on curiosity.

"That's my name, what can I do for you?" Will says, sounding a touch amused at Nilesy's state.

"I forgot to return your shield!" Nilesy pants, out of breath from having run all the way from the second floor of the bar and out to find them in time. He straightens up, revealing the shield resting serenely in his hand. His hand trembles with the effort of regaining his breath. Will stares at him, now looking stunned as if he hadn't expected this at all. Nilesy holds the shield out like an offering.

When Will doesn't look like he's going to take the shield, Nilesy reaches over to take one of Will's hands and turns it so his palm is facing upwards. Before Will can withdraw his hand in time, Nilesy presses the shield into it, quickly drawing back with a giant grin on his face.

Will automatically tries to press it back into Nilesy's hands but Nilesy has both of his hands hidden behind his back so Will can't use the same trick on him.

An exasperated Will tries to move behind Nilesy but Nilesy keeps turning his body so that Will never manages to reach Nilesy's hands. After a minute of trying and failing horribly, Will finally sighs and stops.

"Nilesy, will you just take the goddamned shield already?" Will half-pleads and half-coaxes, clearly exasperated.

"Oh no, I can't possibly take your shield again, I've deprived you of it long enough," Nilesy brightly offers in the way of a response, his grin never wavering as if he's enjoying this (whatever 'this' is) immensely.

"I have my own shield which you can plainly see and it's the exact same quality!" Will says, gesturing with his other hand to the shield clipped on his belt (said shield almost nesting comfortably in the small of his back).

Behind him, Nanosounds raises an eyebrow at where he's gesturing, her gaze falling slightly below it. She silently wolf whistles, causing Lalna to sharply exhale and chew the inside of his cheek in an effort to remain quiet as to not draw Will's attention.

Rythian is inclined to agree with Nanosounds but since he has an _image_ to maintain, he refrains from commenting and reacting for fear of encouraging her. None of them are inclined to step in since it doesn't seem like Will's in trouble yet. Plus, it's horribly entertaining to see Strife flustered for once.

Rythian makes the mistake of looking at Lalna instead.

Lalna waggles both his blond eyebrows at Rythian, mouthing something that Rythian doesn't want to let fully sink into his mind. Rythian takes one slow, deep breath and mustering whatever willpower he can spare to avoid reacting to Lalna as well. He swears that Nanosounds is a bad influence on Lalna since they met. Rythian forces himself to focus on what Will and Nilesy are doing.

Their actions have devolved into a back and forth argument that's somehow strangely polite and civilized, a rare occurrence.

"If Sanctuary Hole does go under, at least the shield will protect you, so I'm begging you to please take it?" Will patiently says, looking slightly pained at having to use that fact as ammunition in their 'argument'.

Nilesy looks like he's about to argue back but falls silent, the grin fading from his face. After a long moment of tense silence (causing Will to silently despair and regret saying as much, judging by his expression), Nilesy unhappily says, "Well, Mister Strife, you win."

Nilesy holds out an open hand to him. Will carefully places the shield in his hand. Nilesy clips it onto his belt and hexagonal panels glimmer faintly in the air around him before fading.

"If it's any extra comfort to you, I don't mind giving it away because you're a friend," Will awkwardly says in an attempt to soften the blow he'd dealt. He withdraws his hands, pressing his calloused hands together and on top of each other as if trying to smother the guilt between his palms.

"You'd seriously consider me a friend?" Nilesy gives him a sudden, piercing searching look. Will nods, looking serious so that Nilesy doesn't end up doubting him. Nilesy offers a smile upon seeing Will nod. "Thank you, Strife," Nilesy says, sounding touched.

"You're welcome," Strife replies, smiling as well.

Nanosounds looks at Rythian and Lalna, mouthing 'aw', the latter two sharing the same sentiment. Nilesy and Will walk over to them, the two at ease at having worked out a solution. Nilesy escorts them as far as the Fast Travel Station before wishing them 'good luck and godspeed' before running off to see if Ravs needs any help in going over evacuation plans.

The others watch Nilesy go, any warm and fuzzy feelings scrubbed away with the reminder of reality.

With that, Rythian access the Fast Travel Station Menu, out of the corner of his eye, Lalna steps back. Rythian's hand pauses in punching in the code to Lynchwood to give him a puzzled look.

"What's wrong, Lalna?" He can't help but ask.

"I'm not using the Fast Travel Station," Lalna says, his voice hard.

Rythian's not sure how to take the news of Lalna's refusal to use the Fast Travel Station (even if he'd been the one to help install it). Of course Rythian's annoyed; Lalna should have told him before so that Rythian could have worked out other methods of reaching their destinations that don't rely on Fast Travel Stations.

On the other hand, if Lalna's reluctant to tell them out of fear of being judged or thought of as weak, Rythian doesn't blame him. Rythian exits out of the menu, his mind cycling through possible courses of action. He could make Lalna use the Fast Travel Station, but he doubts that'll help matters along (guilt for even thinking as much fluttering briefly before fading at the edge of his mind).

"Look, I'll hold your hand, it'll be fine," Nanosounds offers, moving to do so. Lalna swats her hand away, shaking his head.

"No," is his blunt rejection, causing Nanosounds to frown. He avoids looking at her, biting his lip and causing it to pale but seeming set on his decision.

"Lalna, I've used the Fast Travel Station more than a hundred times and nothing's happened to me yet," Will says, gesturing to himself. "It's perfectly fine."

Lalna stares like Will's grown a second head. Lalna's mouth is set in a stubborn line. Rythian observes his tense shoulders, finally recalling Lalna's reaction after arriving at the Fast Travel Station in Oasis. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together from there.

Right when Nanosounds seems ready to manhandle Lalna into using the Fast Travel Station, Rythian steps forward, placing a hand on Lalna's shoulder. Lalna freezes, his gaze snapping to Rythian. Rythian gently squeezes Lalna's shoulder to let Lalna know that he's on his side, hoping that Lalna gets the message. 

A second later, Lalna relaxes when he appears Rythian's not of the same mind as Nanosounds.

Rythian's non-violent intervention causes Nanosounds to make a sour face at him. Will shoots him a look of gratitude behind her, to which Rythian chooses to deliberately not react to.

"It's fine, we can take a train from the Dust," Rythian easily explains. "We won't waste too much time if we leave now and it's not far."

"There's a train station at the Dust? Why didn't you take me there instead of the Tundra Express?" Lalna turns to Rythian, squinting at him.

"Well, the train only has two destinations: Lynchwood and the Dust. To my knowledge, both places aren't spaceports," Rythian dryly explains, moving to lead them to his technical that's parked close by.

That being said, he also refrains from pointing out that if he had taken Lalna to the Dust, they would have never met Nanosounds (refusing to even think of what would have happened if they hadn't met her). Rythian climbs into the driver's seat, starting up the technical. Will climbs into the turret, not needing any prompting to do so and pulls down his sunglasses. He signals to Rythian that he's ready.

"Oh, okay," Lalna says, not even seemingly disappointed.

He visibly brightens at not having to use the Fast Travel Station, climbing into the back with Nanosounds. Once they're both settled in the back, she lightly punches him in the shoulder with her tattooed arm, causing him to gasp in pain from the force of her punch (even though she'd decided to hold back quite a lot).

"If you're scared of Fast Travel, just say so!" She says, appearing to have forgiven Lalna already. Nanosounds turns to bang on the back of the technical to let Rythian know they're settled.

"I'm not scared of it, I'm just..." Lalna retorts, smarting but he trails off, not quite wanting to admit that she's right. He's saved from having to finish his sentence by the technical moving forward as Rythian steers them out from under the archway and towards the bridge to Three Horns.

Lalna rubs his arm where Nanosounds had punched him. He surreptitiously checks when she's busy looking over her inventory and is glad that there's no bruise left behind. His fingers find a particularly bad patch of sunburned skin that's he's only just managing to stop himself from ripping off in fear of the resulting pain.

Does he regret speaking up for once?

No, Lalna doesn't regret voicing his desire against using the Fast Travel Station. Still, a mix of guilt and panic is rolling around in his gut. He might have used the system a lot in the past, but the last time had been enough for him to swear off of using it. He's fairly attached to his mind and limbs, thank you very much. He'd been ready to expect a fight, to be pressured and yelled at until he caves (somewhat inevitable, really, when he's outnumbered).

Rythian stepping in and proposing an unexpected option had been surprising and reassuring, all at once. Lalna had assumed he'd try the same method as Nanosounds. This is taking into account Rythian's ease with such tactics relying on brute force, considering the last few missions they've undertaken.

Lalna's not so foolish as to voice his discomfort now, not when he's come this far and is still alive thanks to Rythian and the others.

It's not like they can simply talk their way out of shooting because it's not even a valid option. He'll have to get completely used to the idea which is beginning to seem appealing, to simply smother his conscience once and for all, becoming no better than them (or a bandit). Or continue struggling to balance becoming somebody who's a bona fide Vault Hunter and remain as he always has. Sooner or later, one of them will win.

Will had been a businessman, right?

Everything about Will Strife screams businessman. Lalna has no idea why his goal of writing a report would lead him to set actual foot onto this planet, when clearly he'd be at home in an office (safe and sound) and sending hired lackeys or robots to do the actual dirty work would suffice. In Lalna's case, he's here because he has no choice and his employer still hasn't gotten back to him despite Lalna sending several more messages since his last one.

The abnormal radio silence is beginning to grate on his nerves.

In any case, the obvious difference between Lalna and Will is that Will's not avoiding conflict; he seems more than happy to throw himself right into the fray, just like Nanosounds. That strikes Lalna as a little strange, because most people he knows are more than happy to completely avoid anything that invites even the slightest possibility of a bullet to the face.

How had Will made the successful transition to becoming the person he currently is who without being smote by his conscience or guilt because the bandits they're killing left and right, at the end of the day, are still people. The longer he's spending on Pandora, the more he's beginning to doubt in the use of clinging to his old ideals while the others carry on justifying their murderous rampages. 

Of course Lalna had willingly participated. That doesn't make it any easier for him to try to justify his own actions, let alone the actions of the other Vault Hunters. He's giving himself a giant headache with all this mental pacing, leaning against the gas tank in the back.

Lalna wonders if he could go back in time so he'll never have met Rythian (going back further and perhaps never even setting foot in the escape pod), how would things have gone differently? That's a line of thought he'll save for another time when he's feeling particularly masochistic. He's already feeling down enough as it is.

On the road at Three Horns Valley, Lalna notes that the Happy Pig Motel is currently being demolished.

There are FyreUK branded worker bots (bulkier, less sleek and elegant looking surveyor shaped robots) taking down the hotel's foundations and replacing each with something new altogether. Their eye beams are effortlessly shifting building materials and supplies about according to the their blueprints dictating each movement and placement.

The sight piques Lalna's interest as they pass by, a welcome distraction.

Soon he returns to staring idly at the scenery they pass by once the hotel vanishes from sight, the dam rising into view, foreboding with the unmistakable signs of bandits living in and on it. He's glad they're putting off the negotiations since he's not looking forward to the outcome where they fail and have to end up massacring all of the bandits.

The memories of the Oasis incident with the pirates are still fresh in his mind.

\--

Each of them are painfully aware of the invisible clock ticking down to its unknown deadline. They're working off the restlessness that comes with waiting in their own way. Nanosounds manages her inventory, equipping and unequipping guns, juggling her selections. Every now and then, she makes a face as if unhappy with her choices.

The tinny sound of FyreUK's top current hit blares from Lalna's ECHO as extra background noise on top of the constant rumble of the technical's engines. They're making decent progress through the Dust without having to push Rythian's technical to its upper limits. Will is keeping watch for anything that might sneak up on them, including for the bandit patrols that frequently stalk the area. He drums his fingers against the railing, elbow deep in scouring the ECHOnet for a power core that might be up for grabs.

When Rythian is turning the technical onto a different road, his HUD pings with an incoming call.

When he sees it's Ravs, he turns around in his seat. He hastily signals with a hand to Will for a seat change. Will scrambles to obey, automatically rolling out of the turret and vacating his seat for Rythian, who only just barely manages to climb into the turret's seat in time and shutting his eyes to block the (unfortunately) familiar sight popping up on his HUD.

Rythian hopes that it's not bad news and that Ravs has more information about a power core, simply because a vague promise from Turps isn't enough for them to track one down, considering the rarity of power cores on Pandora.

Will accidentally makes a high-pitched sound of surprise at Ravs' ECHO portrait right as the call patches through, banging his knee painfully into the space under the dashboard and the steering wheel. He lets out a pained shout, cutting off an exceedingly bad swear word. Nanosounds and Lalna can't help but grin at Will's reaction. His face is probably as red as the top of his ears when Lalna peers over the top of the technical at the driver's seat.

It's probably Rythian's imagination but Ravs manages to conceal his disappointment in that Rythian's managed to find a workaround, however impractical it may be.

"How do you feel about tracking down an urban legend of a gun?" Ravs offers cheerfully. "I'd go myself but as you know, it's hard for me to leave Sanctuary Hole at the moment."

A single moment of relief is overtaken by his mind processing Ravs' words. Before Rythian can decline since he has enough guns that serve him well and without having to remind Ravs of the priority of their current job, the others all respond at once, drowning out each other's words in their haste to eagerly accept. 

Their combined enthusiasm earns them a pleased laugh from Ravs.

"Don't encourage him," Rythian mutters under his breath, not caring if Ravs or the others overhear.

"So, urban legend says that this gun is cursed, causing it to pass from one owner to the next as the last mysteriously dies." This morbid piece of information only slightly dampens Will, Nanosounds and Lalna's eagerness judging by the slightest shift in their identical expressions of keen interest. "All the information I've collected so far points to Lynchwood being the last known location. Said location is a grave."

"You want us to go grave-robbing for a gun? Well, that's not the shadiest thing I've ever done on Pandora," Will notes as his thoughts momentarily turn to Trottimus, alsmiffy and djh3max.

"Wait, isn't it illegal to dig up somebody's grave?" Nanosounds asks but it sounds like she doesn't abhor the idea at all in favor of the opportunity to get her hands on a pre-owned, owner-killing gun.

"Actually, it's not illegal to go grave-robbing in Lynchwood since they don't really seem to care." Ravs shrugs, his ECHO icon briefly flickering over with static. "If you do find that gun, you can bring it to me and I'll reward you _very_ handsomely once you return with the power core."

"Sounds good, we'll look into it," Lalna says, the mention of money sealing the deal for him. He's thinking of the guns he can buy with the money since the idea of a gun killing its owner in mysterious ways doesn't sound all that appealing. He also tries not to think too hard about what sort of reward Ravs is offering, doing his best to seem nonchalant while his face is rapidly becoming warm.

"Lovely, I'll send over what I have on the gun if you're interested in taking a gander," Ravs says. He adds, "I don't know what specific grave it's in, so you'll have to do some digging." Rythian can hear the smile in his voice at the pun.

Rythian also remains stubbornly silent as Ravs bids them goodbye. Rythian opens his eyes to bright sunlight and scenery blurring past, blinking back tears as his eyes auto-adjust from the darkness of his eyes being shut for so long. He also realizes that he'll have to do some later corralling to get the others to remain focused on finding a power core and not go charging off after an urban legend from the moment they arrive in Lynchwood.

His HUD blinks with another incoming ECHO call, barely a minute later. Rythian sees the name and is surprised to see it's Teep. Text pops up across his HUD when he accepts the call, as do the others.

> I see Ravs stole my notes by sweet-talking Zoeya into letting him into my room while I wasn't around.

Rythian's surprised at the lack of swearing and that Ravs had called them in one piece. From what Rythian can make of the message's tone, Teep only sounds mildly irritated at Ravs absconding with their hard work (likely in some form of payback; he's forgotten they had a habit of doing so if nobody's around to dissuade them).

"Should we not go after it then?" Lalna asks, unable to conceal the disappointment in his tone.

> No, I want you to go after it.

" _What_ ," Rythian flatly says, unsure if he's read correctly and rereads the words on his HUD, trying to understand (and failing). He's not mistaken because the words still remain on his HUD, unchanging.

> Don't bring it to Ravs. Instead, send it to somebody called 'HybridPanda' if you find it.

"Why should we send the gun to them?" Lalna frowns. 

> You should listen to the ECHO logs Ravs sent you. If that doesn't change your mind, go ahead and hand it over to Ravs.

"You sure we shouldn't just deliver the gun to you since Ravs stole your notes?" Rythian asks. "And it's technically yours in the first place?"

> Don't get bogged down by your conscience, Rythian. Even if you did give me the gun, I'd immediately send it to HybridPanda since I have no intention of keeping it.

"You haven't exactly answered my first question about why you want us to send it to them," Rythian points out, ignoring the comment about his mostly intact conscience (and refraining from pointing out Teep's apparent lack thereof).

> Send the gun to HybridPanda and I'll give the coordinates to one of my old gun caches.

Come to think of it, Ravs also hadn't given a reason for why he wants the gun either.

With that realization, Rythian comes to the conclusion that Ravs and Teep are likely trolling each other and are using him, Lalna, Nanosounds and Will Strife as their latest pawns to do so. The other three haven't known the two as long as Rythian has, so they haven't come to that conclusion or even suspect foul play. He chooses to leave it be to spare himself from a headache, rationalizing it as the others not being as familiar as Rythian are with the two.

"That's a really tempting offer," Nanosounds concedes after mulling over the new offer.

"You're bribing us to find and send a gun with more guns?" Will says, sounding intrigued. "I like the way you think."

"Money or guns?" Lalna says to himself, torn between both options and knowing that he can only choose one if he's the one to find the gun. He decides to try to be the first to find the gun, curious to see if the gun lives up to being regarded as an urban legend before having to hand it over to Ravs or send it along.

"No guarantees since we have a power core to find first," Rythian says.

Teep nods before the line goes dead. Rythian leans against the turret railing, wondering just precisely how far the two are willing to escalate their forms of payback before they're satisfied or call it a draw. While it's not his business, he can't help but worry about collateral damage.

\--

Compared to Fast Travel, Lalna has no compunctions about taking a train to Lynchwood with the rest of the Vault Hunters, happily forking over the modest fee for the train ticket. He takes the holographic ticket the vending machines spits out, marveling it for a good thirty seconds before carefully tucking it into his inventory like it's some sort of fragile, precious souvenir. Rythian is grateful for his purple scarf since he's able to hide a smile at Lalna's excitement over taking a _train_ of all things despite space ships existing.

Will and Nanosounds find it hard not to be excited as well, considering how excited Lalna is, his excitement contagious. The three of them spend the first half of the trip peering out the grimy windows. Nobody else is taking the train, so they can be as loud as they want with no fear of being reprimanded or stared at. Once Rythian's sure that they're settled and aren't going to cause trouble, he can't help but relax.

Before he knows it, the gentle rocking of the train has lulled him into sleep, his arms tucked against his chest and leaning back in his seat. Lalna turns to point out something to him. He catches sight of a sleeping Rythian in the seat next to him and falls quiet upon registering the sight.

Will and Nanosounds are quietly absorbed in their card game they'd started at some point, having grown bored of staring out the window with nothing but desert stretching out as far as the eye can see. There's guns piled on the seats next to them, clearly the possible prizes. They haven't noticed Rythian having nodded off yet.

Lalna searches his memory, sitting up properly in his seat rather than slouching downwards.

He doesn't ever recall having seen Rythian properly sleep. There's also the fact that Rythian rises at what, the crack of dawn, way before everyone else wakes and is the last to turn in for the night. Even while Rythian is sleeping, there's still lines of tension evident on his face like he's not truly asleep and is simply resting his eyes, ready for anything.

Lalna has the impression that he doesn't get as much sleep as he should. Even if there's no threats, it seems like Rythian isn't ever truly comfortable unless his back's up against a wall and there's a several thick, solid layers between him and the outside world. Even now, his fingers are almost brushing against one of the lit digistruct modules. It's almost as if he suspects he's being followed and expects to be attacked at any moment; Lalna thinks Rythian's just being too cautious (as he's grown to know so very well).

He can't ever really be that vigilant even while sleeping because that's just not humanly possible (and defeats the purpose of having the others take turns at watch). Lalna's just going to assume that old habits die hard, considering it seems like Rythian's used to roughing it out alone and doesn't appear to have wrapped his head around the idea of letting other people take up their fair share of the burden.

Even if Lalna hates having to take watch (unable to stop himself startling at every little snap, crack and rustle, that one memory of encountering Nanosounds sleepwalking and having shuffled past him in the dark still giving him shivers), he still knows he has to pull his weight.

Lalna unties his lab coat from around his waist, checking that it's clean first (it is, considering he'd tossed it into a washing machine and left it out to dry when he'd had a spare moment back at Sanctuary Hole). He carefully tosses it over Rythian's front before joining Will and Nanosounds for their card game.

Will and Nanosounds look around for Rythian, spotting him and are about to call him over to their game before Lalna raises a finger to his lips, shushing them. They glance to him, then at Rythian, understanding dawning on their faces. The three of them check on Rythian every now and then with a sideways glance, lowering their voices to a whisper as their card game continues.

They figure Rythian deserves to be cut some slack, considering what he has to put up with. It doesn't mean they'll stop driving him up the wall every now and again because wow, he really needs to learn how to loosen up.

\--

Rythian's been here before but if he had to push himself to remember, he'd been sleeping? That is, sleeping somewhere that is definitely not here.

Unsettled by the sudden shift in location, he turns, expecting one of them to jump out at him when he least expects it because that's how it goes sometimes, either they're all there or there's none at all. His eyes are slowly adjusting to the dim surroundings, the blue glow of his eyes the only light source around (provided he doesn't blink much).

His companion's not by his side when they should have been.

Their absence causes panic and fear to spike in his gut, refusing to budge as thoughts of what could have happened to them settle like a heavy, unmovable blanket over his mind. He reassures himself in that they can take care of themself and that they probably got split up by taking a wrong turn by accident (he doesn't want to think it'd been a deliberate move by whatever is watching him at that moment).

Eyes are on him but he can't place where they're watching him from, the hallways empty of all life but his own.

Rythian starts to walk, mindful of the way his footsteps echo around the giant hallway that could have easily fit the width and length of a Dahl military frigate. Even then, there's more than enough room for several legions of soldiers for soldiers to march side by side. As a test, he tries to retrace his steps. The same, unchanging hallway stretches out before him like he's never even turned around in the first place. 

In all fairness, that should have tipped him off in that something is horribly wrong but logic insists otherwise.

He has no idea how long he's been walking since the time in his HUD blurs and fades whenever he tries to check.

At that point, the sound of his own breathing is beginning to be unnerving with the prolonged silence. The monotony of the hallway is beginning to wear him down. Just when he thinks he's not getting anywhere, he almost walks straight into a door. He reels back, reigning in his surprise, looking it up and down.

There's no switch, keypad or a handle to open it. It opens without any prompting or further inquiring on his part. Realizing exactly where this is taking him, he wants to turn back but he knows he can only go forward or risk the hallway looping over on him.

The moment he walks over the threshold, it starts when the door silently seals itself behind him. The whispers seems to come from everywhere, the ceiling, the floor, the walls, even from the floating pillars lining both sides of the hallway. The whispers are filling the air between every breath he takes, replacing the silence altogether, never growing in volume as the seconds (minutes? hours?) drag on.

He knows the source of those whispers, trying his best to ignore them. How long had he spent poring over books and illustrations, striving to understand, old admiration replaced by newfound grim horror when they're nothing like the texts had detailed, detecting numerous, heavy human hands at work constructing lies upon lies to mask the truth.

The place constructs itself as a labyrinth even though he should know it like the back of his hand (but his attempts at recollection are foggy, painted over with pain and blood).

When he looks down, his hand's not human anymore. He doesn't want to touch his face for fear of what he'll find.

Just like that, his knife is already in his other hand, the dull cyan glow of the knife's edge effortlessly slicing into his coat, carving into pristine, smooth, porcelain flesh. There's no blood or pain, just empty air (and for one millisecond, the whispers become distorted with howls of pain).

When he blinks, his hand is his own again with all-too familiar chipped, dull nails with dust-stained wrappings firmly in place like a comforting, protective second skin. His knife is still in his hand, the edge pointed straight at his formerly afflicted shoulder. The knife's edge is mere millimeters away from cutting into his coat and flesh.

He puts the knife away before he's tempted again.

How strange, his shoulder aches like he'd cut into himself anyway, something wet and sticky running down his arm, the color of his blood so very wrong (wait, that's not how it goes, that happened _later_ ). His surroundings blurs over with a distorted, horrible, inhuman screeching noise followed by the whoosh of air pulling towards a single source before a single moment of blissful silence falls.

Rythian hadn't realized he'd clapped his hands over his ears to try to block out the sound, taking his hands away and is breathing hard, the pain in his shoulder protesting. When he takes his hand away from his face, there's something small, impossibly heavy and light sitting in his palm. It gleams, wet with his blood (it's a beacon; not his blood, but the thing sitting in his palm).

The whispers have stopped.

There's heavy movement in the dark out of the corner of his eyes and the sounds of scuttling noises scratching in the dark intensify. Numerous white shapes shift behind pillars, all converging on him. He tucks what they're after into his inventory and prepares to fight.

At that moment, the soft, incomprehensible, chirruping alien whispers return, digging right into his skull, taking root in his brain, his limited, far too human mind about to shatter from the immense strain of understanding what should have never been understood in the first place, bringing him to his knees with pain-someone is gently shaking him by the shoulder.

When he looks, he expects five impossibly thin, ghostly white, purple-tipped fingers curling over his shoulder.

Rythian's world dissolves as he snaps awake.

One of his hands flies to his digistruct module hanging off his belt, pulling a gun (any gun) out before he's fully opened his eyes. His other hand is yanking off the scratchy material getting in his way of sitting up.

A downwards glance reveals it's Lalna's lab coat. He flings it aside, breathing hard, his scarf having fallen down around his neck and blood rushing straight to his head, invoking dizziness that fades away a second later. At that point, it doesn't occur to him to care if the others are staring the faded scars around his mouth and on his chin.

His sleepiness has fled to some unreachable location. It's replaced by an alarming level of alertness that's causing him to be feel oddly aware of having broken out into a cold sweat prior to waking.

It's as if almost every previously dull sense of his has been sharpened to a certain point.

If he had to describe it as best he can with words, it's where he's on the verge of slipping into into a familiar place; where time seems to slow, everything but him, the gun in his hands and his quarry becoming inconsequential. That is, until he loses focus and readjusts to the normal flow of time. By then, his quarry's either dead or is still alive, though not for long.

He doesn't remember where he is until he looks around, spying Will and Nanosounds standing in the aisle of the train and Lalna in the seat next to him.

The three of them peer at him with expressions of utmost concern on their face. Lalna's drawn back at the him drawing a gun, his glance darting to it before going back to Rythian's face. The train's stopped moving, having pulled into the train station (that's right, the power core and Lynchwood, he dimly recalls).

Rythian forces himself to vanish the gun, reaching up to find the trinket on its leather cord, pressing the palm of his hand flat on top of it. It innocently sits between his chest and hand. Even if his hand's not directly feeling his chest, his fingertips can feel rhythm of his heart beating away like he's just narrowly escaped death. He's glad he hadn't drawn his knife and swung it out of pure instinct, having instead gone for a gun.

With that, he's managed to mostly soothe his nerves into settling down though he's still far too alert for his own liking, far too wound up on adrenaline and fear. He's beginning to regret succumbing to falling asleep in broad daylight and having a nightmare, having narrowly skirted his limit of sleep deprivation (again).

Perhaps those few hours of sleep snatched up beforehand hadn't been enough to hold back on nodding off until he'd been able to nap again. It's too late to chastise himself for his lapse in judging his own limits.

Rythian steels himself for the inevitable questions. He properly sits up, barely needing to exert any effort and pulling his scarf back up over the lower half of his face (also glad to know that he's not bleeding anywhere, not like in his nightmare). He vaguely hopes they'll leave him alone but he doubts that's happening.

"Are you okay?" Lalna finally ventures. Rythian wordlessly passes him his lab coat. Lalna accepts it, tying it back around his waist with a rustle of cloth (and Rythian can't help but note for the umpteenth time how Lalna's metal fingers work as deftly as his ones on his remaining hand). 

"You looked like you were having a nightmare," Nanosounds observes bluntly.

"What she said," Will says but without any joy or irony in his tone.

"I'm fine," Rythian lies, his alertness fading to acceptable levels at last and not wanting to make him jump out of his own skin at any moment. Not wanting to be on the train for any second longer than he has to be, he stands to leave, Nanosounds and Will stepping aside to make room for him.

Rythian makes his way to the carriage's open door, stepping out onto the dimly lit station platform, the underground air cool, lending a chill to his skin. The others follow. Three seconds after they're clear of the door, the carriage doors slide shut with a loud hiss as the train departs with a metallic screech and a pronounced rattling. They barely spare the leaving train a backwards glance, slowly heading up the stairs.

Once they're at the top of the stairs next to the Fast Travel Station, Lalna moves to bar Rythian's way. Rythian stops walking before he bumps into Lalna. He gives Lalna a pointed look, not really wishing to deal with this now when they have bigger priorities (do they even remember why they came to Lynchwood in the first place?).

Their concern is only making him want to do the opposite of talk about it. Rythian briefly wishes that Ravs is present; Ravs would have noticed his distress and skillfully maneuvered all talk way from such. But Ravs isn't here and unfortunately, they've gotten it into their heads that this has to happen right here, right now.

"Rythian, you know you can tell us if something's wrong," Lalna presses. "You don't always have to volunteer for watch, especially if you're not feeling up to it." They all know that it's not really the issue here but Rythian sees the chance to deflect and latches onto it.

"I volunteer because I know I can do it," Rythian automatically replies, painfully aware that in saying so, it's not helping his case on bit. "I've never fallen asleep on watch."

He ignores Lalna's suggestion; this is partly because he doesn't want to burden them with his problem (which is his _alone_ to deal with). He'll also be admitting that he's not as invincible as they think he is (perhaps they're just an excuse and he really doesn't want to admit that to anyone and to himself).

Rythian deliberately derails that train of thought by clearing his mind and choosing to coolly stare at Lalna, hoping to intimidate Lalna into taking a hint and backing off.

Lalna doesn't look like he's regretting bringing it up one bit. He meets Rythian's glare with a stubborn look, his jaw set and both of his hands firmly planted on his hips. Rythian has to refrain from suddenly being very amused with Lalna's own attempt (and it's failing horribly since Lalna doesn't look all that intimidating in the first place). 

"We have no way of knowing that, especially since the rest of us are asleep at the time," Will gently points out, appearing to agree with Lalna. Rythian turns to look at Will. Will almost backs down, but stops himself in time to follow Lalna's example.

"You've never been attacked while I'm on watch," Rythian calmly states, refusing to cave into their not so subtle attempts to get him to talk.

Maybe none of them will pick up on the fact that okay, maybe he's nodded off once or twice but he's managed to realize just in the nick of time and stayed awake, thus technically managing to keep watch. This is in clear defiance of wanting to very much pass out for a solid twelve hours of blissful, uninterrupted sleep and without any of the usual malicious tricks his brain (or subconscious) typically pulls. 

The nightmare had been something else, if he had to be honest. It's never exactly fucked with his recollection or perception like that before (or maybe it has and he's just forgotten due to the cathartic effect of the moonshine).

"Nice try, Rythian. Just because we've never been attacked doesn't mean that you don't fall asleep on watch," Nanosounds smugly says. _Damn it._ "So what's eating at you that badly for you to pull a gun on Lalna when he tried to wake you up?" She raises a questioning eyebrow at him, looking expectant.

Rythian swallows his guilt and grits his teeth under his scarf. "I would love to talk but now isn't really the best time or place," He says, resisting the urge to sound sarcastic and coming off as dismissive instead. He steps around Lalna, moving towards the station's exit.

Lalna's metal hand grabs his shoulder as he passes, saying something that's lost to time as Rythian freezes, completely missing what Lalna says.

Five impossibly thin, ghostly white, purple-tipped fingers are curling over his shoulder, digging into his arm. He's already blocking out the memory even before it manages to play out. Rythian opens his eyes (he'd only closed them for one second) and properly glares at Lalna.

This time, Lalna flinches, crumpling under his glare as if Rythian had hit him, letting go. Rythian turns away from him, not missing the mortified, guilty look on Lalna's face.

"Hey," Nanosounds says from behind Rythian. Rythian doesn't respond or bother to look back, busy with gathering his temper up before it finds an excuse to fly from his hands and lash out at the nearest person. 

"Nano-" Lalna says but it's in vain.

"I said, hey." Nanosounds is blocking his way the next second (he didn't even see her move), her entire frame bristling and her hands curled up into fists. She's leveling a glare of her own at him. Rythian would have been lying if he hadn't felt a slight chill run down his spine from the sight. He returns the glare.

"I'm listening," Rythian says, aware that he's sounding sarcastic (and not caring). 

"Apologize to Lalna," She says, her voice low and brimming with an undercurrent of rage.

"For?" Rythian says, deliberately being obtuse and relishing in it.

"Being rude, since you can't just brush us off like that, especially when Lalna lent you his lab coat and when we're only concerned about you," Nanosounds grounds out.

"I didn't make him lend me his coat and I never asked for you to be concerned about me in the first place, because as I said before several times, I'm _fine_ ," Rythian snaps, about to say something about them not taking a hint and leaving him well alone but Will puts himself in between them.

"Rythian, if I may be permitted to say something?" Will says as Nanosounds cranes her neck to peer over Will's shoulder at Rythian. She continues to glare at Rythian. Rythian nods, giving him permission to talk since he doesn't want to talk to Nanosounds or Lalna at the moment. Will breathes out in apparent relief before he straightens up and looks straight at Rythian. "You're not fine," He says like he's announcing the weather.

Hearing it straight from Will has a sudden, profound, sobering effect. Rythian's anger instantly crumbles, leaving behind weariness in its wake.

Now, Rythian just feels like he's at the end of his rope; what he really wants is a single moment to collect his thoughts and make sure he's in one piece before he can carry on. That's hard to do when there's people urging him to open up and not giving him that moment. He's not ready to talk about it (though he might have been, for a long time now).

At least he can tell them that much and hope they understand. He doesn't think about what he'll do if they don't.

"You're right, I'm not," Rythian agrees, one of his hands moving to massage the bridge of his nose as he heaves a heavy sigh. He lifts his head and lowers his hand, letting just the tiniest hint of his exhaustion show (because it runs deeper than that, far deeper than anybody would suspect).

Will and Nanosounds blink in surprise. The fight mostly goes out of Nanosounds that's replaced by mild surprise. Rythian looks around for Lalna. Lalna appears at his elbow. He suppresses a flinch when Rythian's eyes find him, shifting uneasily on the spot.

"I'll talk, but not now," Rythian says instead of apologizing, feeling as if he's already done so far too many times and coming off as shallow if he does so this time.

"Promise you'll talk later?" Lalna says, just when it looks like he isn't going to respond.

"Promise," Rythian says, sounding relieved. "Now can we go find that power core?" He hates having to play that card but really, they can't let themselves get sidetracked like this over such what he feels is a trivial issue.

"We can do that," Will says. "What else could we possibly be here for?"

"Shits and giggles?" Lalna suggests, earning a snort from Will.

"I'm holding you to your word, Rythian, because it'd better be a damn good explanation," Nanosounds says, trying to elbow him.

Rythian smartly steps out the way, glad that the hallway is wide enough to permit dodging. He doesn't respond to her as they step out into the daylight and into Lynchwood, spotting the sheriff of Lynchwood waiting for them out front. A wave of blistering heat washes over them, causing any lingering coolness from the shade of the station's hallways to instantly shrivel up.

The sheriff (not bothered by the heat) spots them and purposefully strides over to them, tipping their hat in greeting when they stop in front of them.

"You must be the Vault Hunters that Turps sent over from Sanctuary Hole," The sheriff says, looking over each of them with a slight frown on their face. They exchange concerned glances amongst themselves at the lack of a warm welcome, considering this is Turps' contact they're talking about and how Turps had been so quick to assure them that they'd gain easy entry. It raises some nasty suspicions.

"Judging from the look on your face, is something the matter, sheriff...?" Will finally deigns to ask, letting his sentence trail off when he realizes he doesn't know the sheriff's name.

"Sheriff Martyn at your service," Martyn says, gesturing to himself and at his sheriff's badge. His other hand rests on the grip of a pistol holstered on his belt. He nods at Rythian, sounding very apologetic but matter-of-fact as if what he says next can't be helped, "I'm afraid I'll have to take Rythian into custody."

" _What_ ," Rythian flatly says for the second time that day.

\--

Martyn proceeds to politely ask them not to raise a ruckus, though not before Nanosounds steps in front of Rythian, both Will and Lalna moving to cover her. Their hands poised to pull guns from their digistruct modules. Rythian is too stunned by their protectiveness to say anything (or even tell them to stand them).

In response, Martyn holds up both of his hands in a 'surrender' gesture. The fingers of one of his hands automatically twist into place like he's holding a gun (out of reflex and muscle memory combined) but he manages to correct himself. He waits until they've all seen that he's unarmed and isn't going to try anything before letting his hands fall to his sides.

"Start talking," Nanosounds demands.

"I've just had a bounty submitted for you and I was hoping that you wouldn't turn up," Martyn explains, "But now that's happened, I've got no choice. It's too bad Ravs didn't come along since he also has a bounty on his head too." He looks them over once again, letting out a slight disappointed sigh.

"Why, though?" Nanosounds asks. "He and Ravs haven't done anything-"

"Who submitted the bounty?" Rythian interrupts. She glares at him. Rythian ignores her glare in favor of giving Martyn a hard, inquiring look.

"If you come with me peacefully," Martyn says, his tone cajoling, "I'll tell you who."

"You are not arresting anybody else if I come," Rythian replies. The other Vault Hunters open their mouths to protest. Rythian shakes his head. Martyn exhales in relief, turning to lead the way.

"This way, please." He takes them through the middle of town, strolling quickly through large wooden floored passage hemmed in by rocky walls on either side.

The bare, flickering light bulbs dangle from wires hanging off of hooks buried into the ceiling. The thing that surprises them is the sheer amount of traffic consisting of people moving from one end of the passage to the other. People move out of their way.

Not a single bandit is in sight and to the Vault Hunters, it seems like only civilians are the only people residing in Lynchwood, most of them weary and walking around with drawn faces like they're expecting trouble at any moment, heads bowed low.

They shy away from them, even more so at Nanosounds.

She only rolls her eyes and Lalna can sort of understand their fear (but if they got to know her, perhaps, she's not as bad as they think or so he's telling himself). Martyn nods at a few of the townsfolk and they nod back, smiles flickering on and off their faces when they see the company Martyn's leading. The crowds thin out as they reach the end of the passage into another part of the town that overlooks a cliff. 

Martyn takes them straight to one of the buildings that's clearly the sheriff's office, judging by the giant bronzed sheriff's star standing tall above it. The office sits in the middle of the row of buildings, the row curving to match the cliff's rough, contoured edge.

"Hold on, let me just get the door for you." He moves ahead to do so.

Nanosounds nudges Rythian's elbow, giving him a look that tells him to do anything but enter. Rythian shakes his head and walks right on in, his heart jumping a little in his chest as he steps over the doorway like he's expecting some sort of trap. With that, the others are forced to follow his lead, peering around at what is evidently the jail.

Nothing happens.

The jail consists of an wide open room with a console, a screen taking up a section of one wall complete with several desks pushed together and wooden chairs haphazardly tucked underneath the desks. Some of the desks bear electronics and office equipment, though they seem ancient. The rest of the room consists of cells and a hallway, with even more cells lining both sides of the hallway. A wooden stairway at the end of it appears to lead up to an unseen second floor.

None of the cells are occupied.

"First time I've been in a jail," Lalna whispers to Nanosounds. She gives him a slightly amused look before they return their attention to Martyn. Martyn walks over to one of the more cluttered desks straining to hold up paperwork and several thick volumes (each as thick as Rythian's hand) stacked on it. He retrieves the topmost poster from an untidy stack of them.

"Here, your wanted poster with your bounty," Martyn says, handing Rythian it, calmly adding, "Courtesy of Sipsco., since you asked."

Rythian takes one look at his wanted poster and exclaims, "I'm wanted for existing?" 

It's so unexpected and Rythian sounds so indignant that the others end up staring at him, then at the paper in his hands. Lalna starts laughing, causing the others to join in. Even the corner of Martyn's mouth twitches like he would very much like to join in but somebody has to remain serious (aside from Rythian, that is).

"Let me see," Nanosounds snatches the wanted poster out of Rythian's hands to scrutinize it. "You're worth a million dollars, that's not half bad."

"I'm worth much more than that," Rythian mutters, wondering how it'd come to this.

"Sure you are," Will says, grinning as Nanosounds passes him the poster.

"They must really want someone to haul you in," Lalna observes, still sounding far too amused. He takes the poster from Will, peering at it briefly before handing it back to Martyn (who places it back on top of the stack of posters).

"Now that I'm here, are you going to claim that million dollars from Sipsco.?" Rythian sharply directs this question at Martyn. Martyn is watching him closely, a thoughtful expression on his face. When Rythian asks him, the other Vault Hunters stop being so amused, the atmosphere turning tense.

Martyn gives a slow shake of his head. "No, I'm not," He says

"Then why did you say you'd take me into custody?" Rythian inquires, beginning to be annoyed.

"You're looking for a power core. We don't have one here in Lynchwood since we don't need one, but I know where you can find one."

"And this has what to do with my bounty?" Rythian impatiently asks, juggling several vague ideas in his mind about where this is going (and not liking any of them).

"See, I just recently shot my way to sheriffdom and the previous Sheriff's Posse don't quite like me since I run a different town compared to the one they're used to. They went and kidnapped my two deputies and are holding them hostage. So either I step down or they shoot my deputies if I don't announce my resignation at the end of the day," Martyn explains, sounding and looking somewhat pained.

"You could pretend to step down and then shoot them, thus taking the position of sheriff back?" Nanosounds proposes, sympathy flickering over her features before she appears to remember Martyn dragging Rythian into jail. Her expression hardens.

"I'd be arrested on the spot for disturbing the peace as a citizen," Martyn sharply says to her. "And attempted murder. I've also come too far to be brought down like this." He grimaces.

"So you want a neutral party to step in and save your deputies," Will observes. "Smart. They won't see us coming and they won't shoot the hostages since it's technically not you doing the rescue, assuming that hiring neutral parties isn't illegal in Lynchwood."

"Bingo," Martyn says with a grin. "There's nothing in the rulebooks about hiring Vault Hunters to do the job when it's required."

"So, we get your deputies back and you'll tell us where we can find a power core," Rythian says, his annoyance replaced by the tiniest amount of awe at Martyn's ingenuity.

"Hold on, it's technically the other three Vault Hunters going and not you, since you need to stay here," Martyn interrupts, holding up a hand when Rythian moves to leave.

"I'm going," Rythian says, his eyes narrowing.

"I have to hold you in custody until the other Vault Hunters come back with my deputies." Martyn stands up straight and looks serious, any trace of humor from earlier vanishing. What Martyn is playing at finally dawns on Rythian. He proceeds to glare daggers at Martyn.

"So you're holding me hostage under the pretense of the law. That's not exactly playing fair," Rythian slowly says. "Considering if you want the job done, all of us need to go." He's bluffing but whether or not Martyn calls it is something else.

"You forget I could let Sipsco. know that I have you here but I'm not doing that," Martyn lightly points out. "In addition to providing a power core's location, I can get rid of your bounty too, just like that," Martyn says, snapping his fingers and offering a brittle smile at having called Rythian's bluff. Rythian doesn't let himself show any reaction to that.

"Can you even do that?" Will asks, looking skeptical.

"I run the bounties database on this side of the Pandoran coast, so your bounty can 'accidentally' slip the approval system." Rythian is silent as he digests Martyn's words. "And I have to make sure you don't skip town and risk jeopardizing my deputies' lives and the town's safety in the process. So you can't blame me for wanting a bit of insurance," Martyn adds. "Plus for taking some additional precautions since the last sheriff died at the hands of Vault Hunters."

Rythian's expression is neutral when this little fact comes up; if Martyn is aiming to shock, then he hasn't succeeded. Out of the corner of his eye though, Lalna looks slightly unsettled. That is, until Rythian remembers that he's the only (true) Vault Hunter Lalna's ever met, causing Lalna to base his impression of Vault Hunters being mostly forces of good off of him.

That's not a comforting thought.

"Do all sheriffs play dirty like this?" Lalna looks at the others. He'd thought that the law wouldn't resort to questionable tactics like this, even if more than one life is at stake.

"I assume so," Rythian dryly says. "Since all the sheriffs I've met so far have never exactly been by the book, provided such a book exists in the first place."

"Oh, you give me too much credit," Martyn says, unexpectedly beaming at Rythian's jab. "So, it'd be nice if you could get started because the clock is ticking for not just you and me, as you're all surely aware of?" He raises an blond eyebrow at them.

"Hold it, we're not accepting the job until you agree to several conditions of ours," Nanosounds says, stepping forward with Will (the two having conversed in whispers far too low for anyone to hear ever since Martyn brought up the details of the last sheriff's demise).

"One, Rythian doesn't come to any harm. Two, we want him back in one piece," Will says, picking up where she leaves off.

"Three, you don't tell Sipsco. anything, even after we've left Lynchwood," Nanosounds says, listing them off on her fingers, watching Martyn who is wearing an unreadable expression on his face.

"And lastly, you get rid of Ravs' bounty as well," Will finishes.

"I was hoping you'd forget about Ravs' bounty, but I can certainly manage your terms," Martyn says, surprising them with how easily he's agreeing to their stipulations. When the two give him questioning looks, Martyn helpfully adds, "Don't worry, Rythian will be perfectly safe in his cell. Nobody can get in or out. I'll even let him keep his ECHO, gear and guns, even though it's technically against the law."

Rythian doesn't bother pointing out the hypocrisy in Martyn's last sentence, distracted by the stricken look Lalna throws his way next.

"You can't go into jail, we need you," Lalna says to him. Rythian shakes his head, knowing that it's unavoidable, as much as he'd love to be doing anything but sit around doing nothing while they're out risking their lives.

"It'll be fine. You need to save the deputies so we can get that power core for Sanctuary Hole. The faster you can do that, the sooner we can leave," Rythian says, despite feeling the exact opposite of 'fine'.

"What happens if we fail or only get one deputy back?" Lalna asks Martyn, turning to him.

Martyn gives him a tight smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Then I hand Rythian over to Sipso. and withhold the power core's location since you haven't stuck to your end of the deal." He sighs a moment later, his smile fading, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck. "And I really don't want to do that."

"You can do it. I trust you three," Rythian firmly says, intervening so that the thought of failure doesn't weigh too heavily on their minds. "Sheriff, I'll stay."

He steps into the nearest cell, having to duck under the frame before straightening up on the other side and turning to face them. He keeps his face neutral, resisting the growing urge to change his mind and jeopardizing the mission by leaving with the others.

Martyn walks over, tapping a series of numbers into the keypad far too quickly for any of them to catch. The force field flares into life, the solid blue wall emitting a low steady hum as it blocks the way in and out of Rythian's cell, putting to rest all hope of escape.

"ECHO me if you need anything," Martyn says to him. Rythian nods. When the others cluster close to his cell, he dismissively flicks a hand as if to tell them to 'go'. Contrary to what they might think, their presence isn't helping him completely stifle the urge to break out.

Reluctantly, Lalna, Will and Nanosounds leave with Martyn, walking out of the jail. Lalna throws one last look over his shoulder at Rythian before leaving. Rythian has a pained look in his eyes that his neutral expression can't quite conceal. Lalna turns his head to face the front, his heart squeezing with the guilt of having to abandon Rythian to his fate, however temporarily.

They have to succeed. If not for Sanctuary Hole's sake, than for Rythian. Lynchwood can go fuck itself for all Lalna cares.

Martyn leads them out of the jail and towards the back of the town, back through the people filled passage. He points in the direction that they need to go.

"The Posse is hiding all the way up at the old mining facility back there. I don't care if you leave any of them alive but do bring my deputies back, preferably _alive_." 

"Got it," Will says. "You don't need to tell us twice." The last part is added with a touch of sarcasm embedded in it. 

"You know where to find me and good luck," Martyn says, tipping his hat and pointedly ignoring Will's sarcasm. He leaves them to their momentous task. They wait until he's gone (barely a second passing) before Lalna opens his mouth.

"We're fucked," He says, despite Rythian clearly placing his trust in them.

"Don't panic. We can do this without Rythian," Will says, sounding only the slightest bit panicky.

"We could go back, break him out, bring him with us and then put him back before Martyn finds out we broke him out of jail," Nanosounds says, slamming her fist into the palm of her other hand and throwing a challenging look (complete with a daredevil glint in her eyes) at Lalna and Will.

"Have you seen that forcefield? We'd need an ungodly amount of firepower to break through it!" Lalna says, perhaps more loudly than he originally intended because some townsfolk passing by toss him alarmed looks before scurrying away. Once upon a time, he would have been embarrassed but he doesn't give a shit now, far too wound up to keep his voice down.

"I'm more than enough firepower!" Nanosounds shouts in response to Lalna. "We can break in from the back of the building!"

"We're not breaking Rythian out of jail! That'd probably get us thrown into jail as well," Will snaps at her. "And then what would we do?"

"Let's check out the mining facility, at least, so we know what we're up against," Lalna quietly suggests when Nanosounds looks like she's about to snap back at Will. "That's what Rythian would do, right?"

Upon the mention of Rythian, Will and Nanosounds fall silent as they contemplate Lalna's proposal. After finding no fault in his logic because out of all of them, Lalna's traveled with Rythian the longest, technically knowing him best and how Rythian's mind might work, Will and Nanosounds nod.

"Fine," Nanosounds concedes, but adds in a tone that dares him to continue arguing with her, "But we're coming back for him, even if we fail and have to break him out."

"We can do this," Will says slowly, the panic gone from his voice. "Or die trying."

"That's not helping," Lalna says, beginning to sympathize with Rythian at how he usually feels herding the three of them along.

\--

Rythian is only just getting comfortable on the lone (and thankfully, clean) bed in his jail cell when he hears the door to the jail open.

Silhouettes (one of them bearing a limp body over one shoulder), voices and footsteps float past his cell. Rythian recognizes Martyn's from the wide brim of his hat. 

Martyn is talking to a shorter, blond-haired figure from the brief glimpse Rythian catches of them walking past. The two disappear off to the side, walking further into the jail. Rythian hears the thud of a body being dropped into a jail cell and a light groan of pain. 

The hum of a forcefield turning on sounds before Martyn and the figure walk past again, stopping in front of Rythian's cell at all the desks.

More talking, somewhat indistinct this time.

Rythian hazards a guess that it's a bounty hunter claiming their money, judging by the cash Martyn's counting out and handing over. The bounty hunter takes the money, flicking through the bills until they nod, satisfied and tuck the bills away. Martyn leaves. The figure stays. They glance at Rythian's wanted poster on the desk, their head snapping up to see Rythian staring at them.

They walk over to Rythian's cell, stopping in front of the force field.

Rythian doesn't break his staring until they gesture to him to 'come over'. Rythian doesn't know what they want but since they don't seem to pose any sort of threat, he'll oblige (also curious to see what they want). He'll also hold it to Martyn in that nothing (short of a grenade, rocket or elemental bullets) can get past the force field. He sits up, sliding off the bed and walking over to the bounty hunter.

It might be a good way of killing time while he's stuck here.

He stops a hand's width away from the forcefield (as close as he dares to get, unsure if the force field will shock him when touched). Rythian properly takes in their appearance now that he's this close.

The bounty hunter is about as tall as Lalna. Judging by the faded scars on their face, their mechanical eye (emitting a calm, bright blue glow the same color as their remaining eye, a startling light blue) and battle-worn armor, they're no stranger to fights. They're wearing neutral expression on their face that causes them to look somewhat disgruntled.

"Rythian, was it?" They say, pausing briefly before adding, "I'm HybridPanda."

"What do you want?" Rythian asks, seeing no reason to hide his identity or mince words. Their name sounds familiar but Rythian can't place from where.

"Do you know Teep?" They ask, also not mincing words. Rythian is careful not to show any signs of recognition at the name.

"Why?" He settles on asking instead, deliberately shifting his expression so that he looks more curious than guarded.

"Reasons," Panda vaguely replies.

"I'd like to know the exact reason why you're looking for them, to satisfy my curiosity before I go telling you anything," Rythian carefully says, deciding to gamble his chances of successfully killing two birds with one stone.

Panda leans down to rap the knuckles of their gloves onto one of their knees, causing a metal sound to ring out in the jail.

"Vendetta," Panda simply says, the single word enough of an explanation for Rythian and for him to know that his gamble has paid off.

His gaze flicks down to Panda's artificial knee before it returns to Panda's face. He refrains from giving Panda a sympathetic look because he has a feeling that it'll only irritate them. Panda's expression has since shifted to impassive. That slight shift speaks volumes about the sort of relationship Panda has with Teep and how much information Rythian should divulge without actually giving anything vital away.

"I haven't traveled with them in years. I had a contract with them and when it expired, they left after being paid. I haven't heard from them since," Rythian explains, his eyes drifting to some random corner of his cell as if he's doing his best to recall the precise details.

"Do you know where you saw them last?" Panda asks, the impassiveness not budging from their expression. Rythian doesn't miss the smallest glimmer of interest in their remaining eye. There's also how carefully Panda is following the conversation along as if they're saving every detail like it matters, even if it's useless information Rythian's feeding them.

"I'm sorry, but I don't remember," Rythian says, frowning as if he really can't remember (though he himself knows otherwise). He tries his best to sound honest and apologetic, like he doesn't care at all about what happens to them, playing it cool.

That's a little difficult when all he wants to do is warn Teep of the incoming danger Panda poses. The chances are however, that Teep probably already knows, if the strength of such a vendetta's pulled Panda all the way from the inner worlds to this backwater planet in the hopes of finishing whatever the two are wrapped up in.

"Thank you," Panda says. Rythian blinks, falling silent: he's never exactly met a polite bounty hunter before.

They step away from his cell, moving back towards the desks, apparently satisfied with Rythian's answers. Panda pages through the wanted posters as the door to the jail opens and a woman enters Rythian's line of sight to approach Panda. The two converse in voices too low for him to hear. 

With nothing else better to do, Rythian returns to the bed, figuring that he might as well take a break while he can. He doesn't know how long Lalna, Will and Nanosounds are going to be (pressing all thoughts of their failure and all the different ways their mission can go horribly wrong out of his mind).

He can't help but eavesdrop on whatever conversation he can that's happening at the desk outside of his cell though. From where his bed is positioned, he can actually see out of the cell if he tilts his head just right. Panda and Saberial are too occupied to be too concerned with him eavesdropping and watching.

The woman is commandeering the console, the bounties database pulled up on the screen. She has her ECHO out on the desk next to the computer. Her ECHO pings and Saberial taps the screen without taking her eyes off of the console's keyboard.

Zoeya's voice floats through the ECHO device's speakers. "-lo? I got recommended to contact you for a job, if I'm talking to Saberial, that is?" Rythian suppresses any surprise in favor of remaining quiet as to try to successfully eavesdrop.

Saberial pauses in her typing, straightening up with such interest in her posture that gives Rythian pause. Panda shakes their head. Saberial clears her throat before speaking in a calm, professional tone, her voice deeper than what Rythian had expected. "Yes, you're speaking to Saberial. How can I help you?"

"What sort of jobs does a mercenary like you take up? I mean, I got recommended to contact you specifically since you're apparently quite good," Zoeya brightly rambles, completely oblivious to the undivided attention Saberial is paying her right now. "Not that I'm calling you green or anything, or suggesting you fail quite a lot," Zoeya says, punctuating her last sentence with a nervous laugh at Saberial's silence.

"I take all sorts of jobs," Saberial replies, "If you want, I'm more than happy to discuss the details with you?"

"Great! I'll hand you over to Nilesy now since he's the one with the details!"

"Wait, at least give me your name-" The ECHO falls silent. Saberial gives Panda a look of dismay. Panda looks up at her, shrugging before resuming their search for a new bounty to chase after, posters flicking by under their thumb. Saberial heaves a disappointed sigh before breathing out, "Fuck."

"What are you so frustrated about?" Panda idly asks.

"She was cute and I didn't get her name," Saberial says. Her ECHO screen flashes with another incoming call. "Wait, she's calling back!" Panda lets out an amused sound. Saberial rudely gestures at them before attending to her ECHO device, scrambling to answer before the call drops.

"Hello?" Nilesy asks. "I assume I'm talking to Saberial?"

"Yes, you are," Saberial confirms, sounding slightly disappointed.

Nilesy hums for a second before speaking, "If I paid you a hundred thousand dollars, would you find a cat and bring it to me?"

Rythian has to slowly breath in and out as to not start laughing at the sheer strangeness of Nilesy's request (later, he'll realize that he and Ravs had been dead wrong in joking about Nilesy somehow managing to acquire a million dollars to be able to spend that much money as a reward).

"What kind of cat are we talking here?" Saberial asks, nonplussed by the odd job offer. Rythian marvels at her self-control (and Panda's, because Panda clearly doesn't seem to find Nilesy's job offer as amusing as he does).

"Any kind, I don't care what kind so long as it's clearly a cat and not something masquerading as one." There's definitely a story behind that (and Rythian makes a mental note to ask Nilesy about, provided that the other Vault Hunters do come back for him that is).

"I'll let you know if I manage to find a cat," Saberial says before asking, "Where should I drop it off?"

"Sanctuary Hole," Nilesy replies. "The Crooked Caber, just ask for Nilesy at the bar."

"Got it." Saberial says. She appears to be jotting down the details of the job into her ECHO device. Finally, she looks up and somewhat awkwardly asks (failing to sound nonchalant), "By the way, do you know who that was? The one who initially called me, that is, if you know. I'm asking for a friend." Panda rolls their eyes. Even Rythian can tell it's such a transparent excuse.

"Oh, you mean Zoeya?" Something like barely suppressed amusement enters Nilesy's tone. "She's been looking for a second assistant for a while now, so I can let her know you're interested so she can send you the details?"

"Please do!" Saberial eagerly replies. Upon realizing the loss of their professional tone, she takes a second to regain her composure by clearing her throat before adopting a professional tone once more and saying, "I mean, that would be lovely, always looking for more work on this side of Pandora."

"Consider it as a favor for agreeing to track down a cat for me," Nilesy says. Rythian can hear the wink in his voice before Nilesy cuts the ECHO call.

Saberial punches the air with a fist, whirling around on the spot to extend her palm out to Panda, demanding a high-five from them. Rythian can also tell she's no stranger to fights either (perhaps even outdoing Panda from all the scars Rythian can make out on her form).

Panda snorts, but delivers an unenthusiastic high-five. Saberial doesn't appear be dampened by Panda's lack of such, beginning to hum as she resumes tapping away at the console.

Sensing the end of that conversation and with nothing further to hold his interest, Rythian settles in for a long wait once more, folding his hands under his head as a makeshift pillow. He doesn't want to fall asleep, considering what had been awaiting him the moment he's shut his eyes. He settles his boredom by going through his inventory and rearranging it.

He could always doodle in his journal. He's been neglecting it as of late due to lack of time and energy.

\--

Lalna, Will and Nanosounds take the lift up to the back of Lynchwood; after some prodding at the map on their HUDs, there's no way to directly approach to former Sheriff's posse head-on. Thus, they're forced to take the roundabout route, something that Nanosounds doesn't quite like, judging by the unhappy look on her face.

It's like she'd wanted to charge in, take them out, grab the hostages and get back to the jail before the sun goes down. Lalna doesn't have any problems with that strategy since it saves him from being shot at (and having to shoot). But that's not happening.

Still, they march on because they have no other choice due to the fates of Sanctuary Hole and Rythian's resting on their shoulders right now. Their surroundings are quiet, the sun bearing down on them and causing Lalna to feel the sweat continue to soak the front and back of his shirt. Thankfully, during their slow ascent on the lift, Nanosounds had tossed him some sunscreen upon noticing Lalna picking at his sunburned skin.

His skin's already appreciating it (but unfortunately, he's still healing from his last bout of sunburn).

Will doesn't appear to be bothered by the heat. Much. The only sign of his discomfort is Will wiping his forehead every few minutes with the back of a hand. Lalna wonders why he's wearing business wear when he'd clearly be more at home in more suitable gear but he's not going to argue with Will's taste in clothing (however impractical it's proving right now).

The air is hot and dry, cracking Lalna's lips even though he'd downed a good portion of water on the lift in preparation for the trek. He'll have to see about acquiring chapstick or something like that later, because the last thing he needs on top of sunburn is bleeding, dry lips to add to his woes.

The sound of machinery and the ground mildly shaking alerts them to the presence of a mining field. Barely any buildings stand in the field. Giant machines are drilling straight down into the ground, rocks being cracked and crushed into fine dust with every impact. A graveyard is off to the far right next to the cliff overlooking the desert.

Lalna's arm itches at where his shoulder skin meets metal. Any phantom pain's long since upped and moved on since he'd gotten his arm years ago but he's not fancying going anywhere near those machines if he can help it. 

"Can you see anything, Lalna?" Will asks, making his way over to a rocky overhang that provides a moment of blissful coolness when Lalna and Nanosounds join.

Lalna pulls down his goggles, turning his face in the direction of movement in the distance. He starts at what he sees.

He spies several large armored skags equipped with leather saddles, pawing in the dirt outside more buildings on top of a hill. Camped nearby are clearly the Sheriff's Posse, also armored and armed to the teeth judging by the guns hanging off their belts and in the holsters worn by them. He snaps a few pictures, sending them to Will and Nanosounds.

Will raises both eyebrows in surprise when he examines the pictures. He moves to sit next to Lalna, digistructing a sniper rifle (Lalna marvels that it's also E-tech) and peering down the scope. He hands his sniper rifle to Nanosounds. She grimaces when she takes a look before handing it back to Will. Will despawns his sniper rifle, settling back and appearing to think.

The three of them remain standing in the shade, not quite wanting to sit down and risk being covered in even more dust.

"Martyn didn't mention anything about armored skags," Will observes.

"We should have asked what we were in for," Nanosounds mutters. "If only we weren't distracted with negotiating terms at the time."

"Not like it'd have made any difference if we knew beforehand," Lalna says. Nanosounds fixes him with cold look.

"It could mean the difference between us ending up dead or coming back with the hostages to save Rythian and Sanctuary Hole," She says, her tone matching her expression. Lalna blinks at her, confused before the hurt finally smarts.

"That's not what I meant!" He says, scrambling to explain, "I meant that it's good that you negotiated-"

"Stop," Will smoothly interrupts, adding, "We can do this without Rythian and without fighting." He gives Nanosounds a pointed look. She scowls, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear and looking off into the distance. Lalna gives Will a grateful look. Will just shakes his head.

Lalna suspects she's just sour over meeting resistance for busting Rythian out of jail so that he could join them (even if they'd all suffer the consequences just as Will had pointed out). They sit in more silence, watching the skags and the posse to get an idea of how they might approach. This is new to them; they've never dealt with a hostage situation before.

How the fuck does Rythian expect them to do this?

Rythian would have easily teleported himself to wherever they're keeping the hostages and simply used the element of surprise to get himself and the hostages out. Well, that's how Lalna imagines what Rythian would have done in their position. That and he's had plenty of time to get acquainted with Rythian's modus operandi (the odd fact that Rythian always hangs back in battle never bothers Lalna since he's not even aware of it).

Lalna digistructs his ECHO but Nanosounds stops him from making a call with a hand, her lip curling. Lalna lets his irritation show on his face.

"He said we can do this and we're doing this without his help," She says, her tone still cold.

"It wouldn't hurt to ask for some advice since Martyn let him keep his ECHO," Lalna argues, wresting his hand out of her grip.

"Martyn will think we're plotting to break him out if he catches Rythian talking to us," She says, wrinkling her nose at him.

"He can't always be around to keen an eye on the jail," Lalna insists.

"There's a rider approaching," Will calmly points out.

That catches their attention and Lalna puts away his ECHO. The member of the Sheriff's Posse is approaching them on a skag, the skag's movements kicking up a cloud of dust that billows out behind them. Lalna, Will and Nanosounds scramble to hide behind the rock. The rider stops the skag several metres away from their hiding spot.

The skag pauses to let a pink tongue snake out of its bifurcated jaws, appearing to sniff the air. 

"Are we standing upwind or downwind?" Will whispers to them, not daring to speak normally for fear of being overheard or the wind carrying his words over to the rider. Nanosounds and Lalna look at each other before shrugging. Will mutters a curse.

The rider briefly puzzles over the skag suddenly scenting the air. A second later, their head snaps up in their direction. The skag turns and begins charging towards them, carrying its rider closer with large, loping strides.

Lalna is starting to panic because the skag is much, much larger in person and there's no other cover to duck behind (the nearest being about two hundred or so metres away, too far for them to retreat to in time).

"Nanosounds, spawn a tentacle right above his head and see if you can knock him off," Will whispers at her as the rider rounds the corner, the skag's jaws parting to snap at Lalna, who's the closest. Nanosounds frowns, concentrating.

Her tattoos light up but Lalna doesn't notice, far too busy digistructing his SMG to bring it up to fire it into the skag's face. The bullets ping off its toughened hide and armor. The skag just shakes its head and lunges.

Lalna can feel the skag's hot, rancid breath on his face and dreads the exact moment its jaws close on him.

A small tentacle (small by usual standards given that the other ones had been giant monstrosities well exceeding Rythian's height and the width of a technical) spawns out of a small hole on the rock's surface right next to the rider and the skag. The rider's head turns in surprise as the tentacle immediately swings out upon sensing movement near it.

It sweeps into the rider and the skag (who yelps and snaps its jaws shut a mere second before it rips into Lalna), knocking them both to the ground.

Will digistructs a gun with a blade attachment as he dashes over to the downed rider. Lalna looks away from Will dispatching the rider with a well-placed stab, towards Nanosounds. Her tattoos have gone back to their usual hue but she's breathing out hard, looking a little pale. She wipes at her sweaty forehead with a shaking hand. Lalna forgets about being mad at her (the circumstances practically warranting it) and walks over to her.

"You okay?" He asks her.

"I've never spawned a tentacle that quickly or in such a specific location," She says, huffing for breath and leaning against the rock for support. Lalna doesn't know what to say to that. Instead, he offers her his canteen. She nods gratefully, downing the entire thing in one impressive go before handing it back. Some of the color's returned to her face and she properly stands instead of leaning. 

"What do we do about the skag?" Lalna asks, pointing. The skag's unconscious on the ground near them, its long pink tongue lolling out from its vertically bifurcated jaws onto the ground. The skag’s plated chest rises and falls steadily.

Will walks over to them, the knife at the end of his gun steadily dripping blood that Lalna can't tear his eyes away from. "I've just thought of a brilliant plan," He announces breezily, pulling out a rag and wiping the blood away. He keeps the gun out, just in case the skag wakes.

"What is it? It'd better not be better than trying to break Rythian out of jail," Nanosounds says, eying Will.

Will jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the unmoving member of the Sheriff's Posse. "We're playing dress-up," He says like it's obvious.

"What," Lalna says.

"Here's how it goes: we strip the rider of his clothes, send one of us dressed as them and riding the skag into the hideout, find out where the hostages are and then ambush them once the hostages are clear," Will explains his plan, sketching it out in the dirt with the knife. His explanation is somewhat ruined by the wind scrubbing away his drawings but Will doesn't appear to mind, looking at Lalna and Nanosounds to see if they're listening.

"Do we really have to kill them?" Lalna asks. The other two give him incredulous looks.

"They're going to cause problems one way or another if we leave them alive," Nanosounds informs him.

"Oh," is the only response Lalna gives.

"I'm going in," Nanosounds volunteers when it seems like Will's about to ask who wants to volunteer. Will snaps his mouth shut before opening it again.

"You can't."

"Why not?" She rounds on him, her eyes blazing.

"Your tattoos. They'll stand out because the outfit doesn't completely cover your face," Will states, his voice cracking mid-sentence when he realizes he's shouting. Nanosounds falls silent at this but her eyes are still blazing.

"So it's either myself or Lalna who goes," Will says with forced calm, turning to Lalna.

"You can go," Lalna quickly says. "I don't mind staying behind with Nanosounds as back-up."

"Let's make this fair and quick," Will says, ignoring whatever Lalna is saying. He despawns his gun, holding a hand out for 'rock, paper and scissors'. Lalna inwardly groans, but the skag is beginning to twitch awake so he holds his own hand out and swings down at the same time as Will.

Nanosounds watches them unhappily. She could pass as a member of the Sheriff's Posse just fine if she wore something over her face but she likes the sound of an ambush better (and it's really not because of Will not letting her dress up, nope).

\--

Will feels the skag puzzling over the immediate lack of direction the moment Will's climbed on (the skag had sniffed him twice and seemingly decided that he's tolerable and no different to its former rider). Will's never ridden a skag before but he tries to remember what the previous rider had done to get the skag moving.

He experimentally digs his heels into its sides. He doubts the skag can feel it, feeling like an idiot for even attempting it.

The skag huffs.

He's about to try something else when the skag starts to move. He chokes back a sudden high-pitched sound of surprise. Will's never ridden anything before, almost falling off (he can imagine Lalna and Nanosounds either despairing at his inexperience or laughing; probably the latter) before he manages to right himself, letting his body move in time with the skag's movements.

Normally he'd be shooting the skag, not riding it. Needless to say, it is a very surreal experience. 

The rider's clothes smells of old sweat and dust. It'd been a man they'd stripped down to his underwear and digistruct modules They'd just left him in one of the nearby portable toilets in the hopes another member of the Sheriff's Posse doesn't discover the body.

Nanosounds had punched the rider in the head before shoving him into the toilet and slamming the door shut. Will had not been about to argue with a frustrated Siren over how to manage her frustration. Lalna had perfectly agreed with him after looking so relieved that he doesn't' have to dress up as the skag rider.

Will wouldn't necessarily recommend it either.

The clothes are built for somebody stockier and heavier, so the clothes are a little loose in several places so he has to keep adjusting the clothes so they sit right on him. Surprisingly, the boots can even fit Will wearing his own shoes in as well.

Also, he's practically wearing another layer (his own clothes) underneath the rider's outfit, so he's already feeling a little light headed from how unbearably warm his body's becoming. Will puts up with it though since it's not all different from his usual experience (but he dearly hopes he doesn't succumb to heat stroke before he reaches the hostages).

The skag seems to know where it's going without him having to steer it. Will is glad for that because even though he's holding the reigns, he's still riding an animal which could probably buck him off if he pushes it too far and proceed to take his hand off in one bite if he's not careful.

That being said, he doesn't know if Lalna and Nanosounds are following him up the hill; the skag is moving faster than Will expects. It does explain though, how the rider had crossed the span of several hundred metres so quickly before they could properly react. No wonder why Martyn doesn't want any of them left alive; even one member of the posse could cause enough of a problem before they manage to take it down.

Not to mention, the skag itself is a tough customer, bigger than any skag found out in the wild. Will can feel some of its armored plates jutting uncomfortably into his legs, even though two layers of clothing and the saddle's protective leather.

The only upside to all of his is that he gets to wear a badass looking cowboy hat. He has half a mind to keep the damn thing after (only if they make it out alive, that is).

The skag halts at the gates to the posse's hideout, letting out a roar that rumbles through its body and up Will's legs. He sits up straight so that he doesn't fall off from the skag abruptly pawing at the gate, letting out a high pitched whine.

"All right, all right, keep your pants on," A deep voice grumbles, attending to the gate. Will pulls the hat down over his eyes (he'd had to put his sunglasses away to be able to wear the hat). "Back already? Did you find any meat?"

Oh fuck, he'd forgotten about having to speak while infiltrating. "Nothing but tumbleweeds, rocks and sand," Will manages, his mouth already moving before his brain fully kicks into gear to muster up a response.

The other rider doesn't even react much (hard to tell with that many layers over their face), grunting in agreement. "Doesn't surprise me that other people are getting to the good stuff first around these parts." The rider steps aside, letting Will and his skag in through the gate. The gate clangs shut behind him.

His skag makes a beeline for its still saddled friends, tongue lolling out and uttering a low roar in greeting.

Will somehow manages to dismount (glad he doesn't have to take off the skag's saddle) without falling flat on his face. He takes a moment to adjust his clothes back into place, keeping his head bent low and pulling the slipped down bandanna back up over his face.

There's about ten other members of posse (not including him), milling around performing various chores or simply napping in the shade of the buildings under the heat. A few of them are playing cards on top of a makeshift table (constructed out of a cardboard box). Will walks over to them, finding the tiniest bit of solace in a familiar activity. They barely spare him a glance, shifting aside and kicking over an ammo container for him to sit on. 

Will sits down, taking enormous care not to let any of his clothes slide out of place. One of the posse deals him in. Conversation is already underway and Will easily eavesdrop without fear of being caught out for doing so. His over-sized gloves make it a little hard to grasp the cards but he'll deal.

"Martyn doesn't seem like he's going to surrender," One of them grouses. "I'm getting real sick of waiting for his sorry ass to surrender."

"I don't fancy shooting up the place since it just means more work for us after he's dead," Another rider grumbles from somewhere from Will's left.

"You betting anything?" The rider to Will's right nudges him. 

Will tosses five dollars into the middle of the makeshift table.

"You're betting light today; hunting didn't go well?" The same rider notices Will's slim betting. Will doesn't trust himself to speak, considering how dry his mouth and throat have become in putting himself in their midst. He just grunts instead. "Yeah, skags haven't been out lately," The rider sympathetically says.

"Makes you think if Martyn's poisoning them just to starve us out," A different rider idly says, discarding their entire hand.

"That's fucking stupid, don't you know skags can eat anything, including rat poison?" The rider next to them cuffs them in the back of the head, causing them to rub their head with a gloved hand and throwing an offended look at the other rider. "They'll just end up shitting it out!"

"We don't know that for sure," A rider across the table points out.

Will's having a hard time keeping track of who just spoke since he's keeping his head tipped low and on top of that, all the members of the Sheriff's Posse are identically dressed; given the layers over their faces, their voices coming out as indistinct and muffled. So they also all sound the same to Will.

"I've seen a skag eat a laxative and it just strut around for about an hour before barfing it back up," A rider brightly claims. "And then ate it again. It was fucking hilarious!"

"Don't be fucking disgusting," The same rider who'd delivered a cuff leans across the table to smack his fellow rider in the head as well. Will chooses not to react. He's forced to suppress any nausea, because they won't shut up about the intricacies of a skag's digestive system, hotly debating the finer points. Will really wishes he could block out what he hears but he can't.

So he puts all of his attention into playing the card game, only ever pointing and grunting in lieu of speaking when he has to, biding his time. 

Eventually, one of them notices the time.

"Somebody should go and feed the hostages, we don't want Martyn thinking we're letting them starve and shit." Will slowly raises his hand when it's clear nobody else wants to. "Rations are in the cave with the hostages, you know what to do." The rider mimes unwrapping the rations and handing (or holding, Will can't tell) it out, causing the other riders to chuckle at whatever inside joke they've got running.

Will stands up, nodding and bows out of the card game. A waiting rider takes his place.

He clinks away, surprised that there's a cave as the rider mentioned; he would have thought the hostages would have been held inside a building. The cave is cooler than the outside but the hostages can't be seen from the entrance. Will walks in.

After rounding a corner, he spies two people in sheriff's outfits with their hands and feet trussed up with rope. They're sitting up, leaning against the wall of the cave.

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with 'r'," One of them drawls in a bored voice.

"It's rock! You've guessed that for the last three times!" The other deputy snaps.

"Why don't you guess something then," The other deputy replies in the same bored tone.

"Okay, I spy something with my little eye that begins with 'f'," The deputy quickly says upon spotting Will approaching. The other deputy notices Will as well, falling silent but not for long.

"I give up," They one who drawls their words says with a frown.

"Fucker." The deputy who'd snapped at them jerks their head in Will's direction, grinning.

"Haha, very funny," Will dryly says, tilting his hat up and pulling down the bandanna to give them an unimpressed look that would have made Rythian proud. They start; or as well as two deputies can start while tied up. They exchange surprised glances.

"You're not Bill, Ted, Dick, Harry, Jerry, John, Jamie, Ned, Charlie or Fred." The deputy who'd snapped peers at Will.

"That is a lot of names," Will has to admit, guessing the names are the members of the Sheriff's Posse.

"Who are you and why are you dressed like Ted?" The same deputy demands.

"You're not really in a position to ask," Will points out, coming over to kneel by the deputy who speaks in a bored tone of voice. They shift away from him as best as they can, finally toppling over, their cheek pressed against the dirt. 

"I don't want to play the airplane game," They whine from the ground, eying Will suspiciously.

"You have to eat, Tom," The other deputy says, clearly relishing the other deputy's discomfort. "Got to keep up your energy one way or another."

"Well, _Tom_ , I'm not in the mood to be fed like an infant because I couldn't possibly have failed in an attempt to escape," The deputy on the ground starts, jerking his head at the cave's entrance before continuing, "When my hands were untied under the guise of using my hands to eat and for the riders to rub it in my face every single time they come in to feed us."

"It was amazing," The other deputy says, their grin returning. "He made it halfway out of the cave before the skags dog-piled him."

"I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those meddling skags," This calmly comes from the drawling deputy still sprawled sideways on the ground.

"Wait, both of you are named Tom?" Will asks, looking incredulous.

"Yes," The two of them chorus.

"That must be confusing," Will note, "Especially for Martyn."

"By the time he realized, it'd already been a month," Tom drawls. "And we took turns responding."

"It was hilarious," Other Tom says, his grin not budging. "So, who're you?"

"I'm here to rescue you since Martyn hired us to," Will says, pulling out the bladed gun and using the knife to cut through one of the toppled over deputies' restraints. They flex their hands, sitting up and starting to untie their feet. Will moves to the other deputy.

"Who's 'us'?" The Tom who's just recently been untied asks.

"I'm a Vault Hunter and the other two are watching, waiting for me to let them know to mount a surprise attack the moment we're clear of here,  
Will says.

"Oh, okay," The same Tom says. He stands, stretching, edging away from the other end of the cave towards the crate of rations. He picks one up, unwrapping it with a crinkling noise and tearing into it. "My first meal that's doesn't involve spoon-feeding, mm."

"Okay, now I'm just going to call-" Will misses the Tom (the one who's not eating) gesture frantically at him when he's reaching into his 'borrowed' coat for his ECHO. The sound of a gun being cocked causes Will to freeze.

"You're not Ted," The rider says from behind Will.

"No, I'm Will," Will says. He doesn't have to look behind him to know that there's a gun leveled at his head.

"We don't have a Will amongst us," The rider says but they sound uncertain.

"Sure you do," The Tom that's eating helpfully supplies in between mouthfuls. "Sometimes Bill goes by Will." Will's not sure how he's managing to keep calm in this situation when the other Tom looks ready to start shooting.

"He's right," Other Tom points out, the calm in their voice sounding forced but they don't give away Will (much to Will's relief) or start shooting.

"I don't believe you," The rider says. "I'm going to ask the others and you're coming along." This is directed at Will.

Will puts both of his hands up to let the rider know he's unarmed, not quite wishing to be shot in the back of the head despite his shield being in place. He also doesn't want the situation to dissolve into chaos and for the deputies to come under fire if any bullets start being fired.

"Fine," Will concedes. "Just don't shoot."

"No funny business from you two, there's skags posted right around the corner, ready to dog-pile you again," The rider says, a note of amusement entering their tone as they gesture to the Tom who's still eating. Tom stops munching long enough to gesture rudely at the rider, who laughs and escorts Will out of the cave. Will blinks at the bright sunlight, glad for his borrowed hat. "Is Bill here?" The rider calls out to the others.

"I'm Bill!" One of the rider shouts from the card game table, standing up. "Did the deputy bite again? We should get him a muzzle if he keeps that up." This earns a laugh from the others.

"I heard that! I don't need a muzzle!" Tom shouts from inside the cave, earning more laughter from the Sheriff's Posse.

"We got an impostor amongst us," The rider pointing the gun at Will's head announces. "This here is Will, otherwise known as 'Ted'." Will can imagine the air quotes around the last word. "But Bill's standing over there so you can't be Bill!" This is delivered in a triumphant tone.

"I want to be called Will, not Ted," Will says, his mind racing to find a way out of this.

"You don't look anything like Ted," The rider slowly says.

"Bit hard to tell with all these layers on," Will points out, sounding calm despite not being calm on the inside.

"True," One of the other riders agrees. "We should vote to change these uniforms, they're also way too hot sometimes." Agreement ripples throughout the other riders. 

"We can do that when Martyn's dead and the town's under our thumb!" Will hears the sound of someone cuffing someone upside the head. "Ow!"

"Don't get distracted!"

"Okay, why don't you look like Ted?" The rider pointing the gun at Will's head asks, pressing the cold barrel of the gun against Will's neck, right where the back of his skull meets his spine.

"I felt like a change of image?" Will supplies. "There's nothing banning that." He's just pulled that out of thin air, hoping to buy a little more time (wondering where Lalna and Nanosounds are).

"Why were the deputies untied, then?" With every question, the rider's sureness that they have an impostor at gunpoint fades.

"I wanted to see them fight to the death?"

"We were saving that until Martyn's dead!" Another rider says indignantly.

"I got impatient and I'm sorry," Will says, making sure that he sounds very apologetic, looking up at the sky and hoping that the rider doesn't pull the trigger. A tense moment follows until Will feels it drain from the air.

"Okay, you're off the hook, but you're not allowed to feed the deputies from hereon." Will hears the rider put away their gun. "Now we have to tie them back again and risk being bitten," They sigh. Will just thinks they're being too melodramatic.

Will spies something metallic arcing (like a grenade being thrown) in the sky above him. Will knows that shape and he dives out of the way, breaking out of his roll to sprint towards the safety of the cave as Lalna's Loader hits the ground in the middle of the posse's camp.

Lalna's Loader unfolds and the scene descends into chaos, surprised shouts and bullets ringing out.

Will strips off his 'borrowed' clothing in the cave (ignoring the drawling Tom's wolf whistle), glad to not be dying from overheating at last. He turns, tossing his turret in the direction of the skags to serve as a distraction. Will discards all the clothing, letting them fall to the ground but keeps the cowboy hat on (he tells himself it's to keep the sun out of his eyes), pulling out a gun and ducking behind cover. 

The deputies pull out their own guns, falling behind cover as well and start shooting back, clearly relishing the chance to finally fight.

Will spies Lalna crouched at the gate, occasionally firing back a burst of gunfire from his SMG. Nanosounds is covering him by the gate. She reaches out, spawning holes and tentacles, adding to the chaos. The skags scatter this way and that, confused and knocking their riders aside in their attempts to flee Will's turret, bullets from this way and that as well as the tentacles.

Once the last skag's vanished down the hill, Will withdraws his turret.

Nanosounds appears at the cave's entrance, sliding behind cover and ending up next to him. "Half the riders are dead and the others are still out there!" She breathlessly reports, her shield recharging. The two deputies barely spare her a glance, continuing to shoot back.

"Where's Lalna?" Will asks, having briefly ducked out of cover and not spotting Lalna by the gate.

"Oh, he'll be fine, he's probably just hiding," Nanosounds says. "Let's finish up here and then we'll go get Rythian."

Will nods before tossing his turret in the direction of the gunfire so that it can help out Lalna's Loader (its upper limbs of which are beginning to spark and fray from one too many hits).

One of the riders sticks their head out to find them; Nanosounds and Will wait for the inevitable headshot from Rythian but they automatically realize Rythian isn't with them. One of the Toms nails the rider in the head instead, throwing them an odd look after for hesitating. 

The two Vault Hunters don't bother to explain why, forcing themselves to keep shooting and overriding all expectations of a rider to appear in the open for them, feeling Rythian's absence more than ever.

Really, they've only just begun to get used to the sound of his sniper rifle going off in the distance, the sound cracking the air and letting them know that he's with them even from afar.

\--

Lalna's hiding behind a crate, close by his Loader when Nanosounds had spotted Will and had charged off to join him, leaving Lalna alone.

Gunfire echoes all around him, splintering wood and embedding into every bit of scenery around him. He's not even sure if they're shooting at him, most of the gunfire being directed towards the cave at Nanosounds and Will. Lalna might have grown slightly more used to being shot at, but this is still way out of his comfort zone.

Will's turret is tossed out from wherever Will is hiding to join Larry Robert. The turret unloads a fresh round of steady, lethal gunfire into the building serving as the posse's cover.

Lalna notices a tesla grenade landing next to Larry Robert and Will's turret, the consequences instantly unraveling in Lalna's mind.

Without hesitating, Lalna darts out, picking up the grenade with his metal arm; it goes off right as he musters up the strength to lob it through an open window (causing shouts to alarm to sound, following by the crackle of electricity and screams of pain). He can feel the shock damage reverberate through his metal arm before it fades.

His arm's never been built to receive that much of a shock but for the time being, it's the least of his worries. Bullets ricochet off his shield and Lalna dives for cover, glad that his shield hasn't gone off with its shock nova yet since it being drained means he's liable to receive some serious damage.

From behind his cover, he surveys the mining field that he, Nanosounds and Will had passed through. His eyes end up falling on the turret tower overlooking the graveyard and something just instantly clicks in his mind.

Lalna's sure of his Loader's ability to finish up the job in his place (tamping down roiling guilt for committing more murder, however indirect). He gets up from his crouch, ducking through the gate Nanosounds had broken down in her haste to reach Will before Will gets shot by the rider threatening him.

Lalna is so sure that the gun that Ravs and Teep had told him to find is in the graveyard.

He can't shake the feeling that he's right. He'd listened to the ECHO logs while waiting for Will to get back to them and needless to say, Lalna's skeptical and a little bit nervous of what the gun is capable of. He still really wants that gun though, it being his first, proper, own gun acquisition on Pandora without resorting to scavenging or buying it from a vending machine.

He sprints towards the graveyard, hoping that the others aren't going to catch on that quickly. The sounds of gunfire eventually fade once he's gone far enough. There's not that many graves, thankfully. Lalna recalls the name of the one who'd last held the gun, searching the graves for the name of the deceased person. He finds it.

Lalna despawns his gun, dropping to his knees and starting to dig with his hands.

The dirt is mostly sand which easily gives way. He finds a loot chest, which he easily hauls out of the grave. His fingers travel over the surface of the box, seeking the lock. He finds it and is surprised that the loot chest isn't locked. Lalna flips open the lid and inside, rests the gun on a nest of yellowing papers, as shiny as the day it'd been made.

Lalna grabs it (not needing to confirm its identity) and tucks it into his inventory. He slams the now empty loot box shut and shoves it back into the grave, shoveling sand and dirt back over the top. He doesn't care if the grave looks disturbed (or if he's committing a serious crime). 

He stands, his heart hammering in his chest.

Nanosounds and Will are standing outside the gate (why is Will still wearing that ridiculous cowboy hat), searching for him. Lalna doesn't have to check his HUD to know that his Loader's despawned after having sustained too much damage; he hadn't even noticed, far too busy digging into the ground. He feels a little guilty for neglecting his Loader but he'll check on Larry Robert later to make the necessary repairs.

Lalna joins Will and Nanosounds, noticing the two deputies following them. He's also too tired to fully let the relief of having succeeded sink in completely. Will and Nanosounds have minor scratches, nicks and bruises here and there on their forms but don't seem to have any serious injuries. The sight causes him to feel a little bad for ducking out near the end, considering he's the only one unharmed.

The others don't seem to mind though.

"You missed all the fun!" Nanosounds says, looking him over with mild disapproval, his even dustier appearance not escaping her notice. She doesn't ask where he's been though, still riding the adrenaline high of battle.

"You seemed to have things taken care of," Lalna points out. She hums, looking pleased with the success of their mission (even if things did get dicey towards the end, in Lalna's opinion).

"We did it. We can get Rythian and the power core's location now," Will breathes out, sounding tremendously fatigued (Lalna doesn't blame him, for what he's just been through in infiltrating the camp and being held at gunpoint). 

There's a large scratch on his face that's beginning to scab over and his suit is a little torn in places from near-misses with bullets, exactly what Lalna wants to avoid when his shield's down.

"Why are you still wearing that hat?" Lalna asks him when they start walking back. Will dabs at his face with a clean rag Lalna's supplied him with, cleaning up whatever blood he can so he doesn't look a right mess when entering the jail and causing concern.

"I like it," Will cheerfully says, "And am keeping it." He pockets the rag.

Lalna snorts. He reaches out with his metal arm to introduce himself to the deputies and shake their hands. There's a slight, jarring second of a delay when he reaches out that nobody save for Lalna notices (and even then, it's the furthest thing from his mind because they're finally leaving this place).

He hopes it won't cause any major problems later, since he's not exactly equipped to perform anything outside of basic maintenance.

\--

Martyn pauses the ECHOnet game upon hearing his ECHO go off.

Rythian patiently waits, watching Martyn's expression flicker from suspicion, to disbelief finally, joy. He cuts the call, turning to Rythian with tears in his eyes. He confirms that the others are on their way back with both of his deputies (still miraculously alive) in tow, turning off the game console.

Martyn hustles Rythian back into his cell with profuse apologies and an paper-thin excuse about about keeping up the image of sheriff.

Rythian lets it slide, numb from the news. He remembers to pretend as if he'd been in his cell the entire time, instead of being dragged upstairs to play ECHOnet games with Martyn (since Martyn had lacked a partner for some time now and recruited him in desperation) for the past hour or so. Thus, Rythian is just getting comfortable on his jail cell bed when the others return.

Martyn checks that both of his deputies are still alive, tutting at their slightly banged up states. The two Toms insist that they're perfectly fine but Martyn orders them to go rest, clean up and eat, which they both head off to do, no arguments there. Martyn punches in the code to Rythian's cell, letting him out before running up the stairs after his deputies.

Rythian blinks, unsure how he should react to Lalna, Will and Nanosounds' unexpected success, after having been exceedingly prepared for news of failure. He steps out of his cell to a somewhat awkward silence, taking in their states.

The first thing that hits him is guilt. He shouldn't have left them like that, even though there'd been no choice in the matter.

After HybridPanda and Saberial had left, he'd experimentally tested teleporting out; the instant he'd tried, he'd rubber banded back into his original spot on the jail cell bed, pain spiking up everywhere in his body. It'd seemed like the jail cell's equipped to disable teleporters while the force field's active. That'd been enough to discourage any further attempts on his part.

Thankfully, Martyn hadn't been around. Rythian doesn't want him to know he'd tried breaking out. Still, his body's still feeling the aftereffects like he's just received a nasty electric shock. He is also glad that his eyes haven't shut off due to his experimenting, leaving him temporarily blinded. It hurts for him to move, even now but he'll deal.

His own pain seems minor compared to their wounds (okay, he might be exaggerating but wounds are wounds, to be taken seriously, no matter how large or small). He hadn't even managed to sleep either due to worrying.

What does one say in this situation?

Of course he's happy they've succeeded. Most of all, he's relieved that they're still in one piece. Rythian is still at a loss for what to do or say. Welcome back? Thanks? He has a feeling that no matter what he says, it'll come out awkward or stilted, like he's still mad at them for earlier events.

Nanosounds solves that for him by suddenly stepping forwards. She's holding both of her arms out and fixing him with a steady look, silently asking for permission to hug him. Rythian accidentally nods instead of tilting his head (and in jokingly asking what the special occasion is as to warrant a hug), causing her to yank him into a bear hug.

She's significantly shorter than him but that doesn't stop her from burying her face in his chest, her warm, thick arms curling around his back and settling atop one another. Rythian freezes but forces himself to relax; both of his arms are pinned to his sides so he can't exactly hug her in response. She is not crushing his ribs (compared to Zoeya or Ravs' hugs at any rate), which is somewhat refreshing.

He looks at Lalna and Will (where did Will get that hat?). The two of them are wearing identical expressions of amusement, not stepping in to help (and Rythian mentally declares them _traitors_ , the two of them). Nanosounds pulls away a second later with a grin.

"We missed you," She simply says. Rythian is stunned because he hadn't expected to hear that at all.

Martyn races back down the stairs with a bag of something. He tosses the bag to their feet. "Take this as reward. There's money in the bag for getting rid of every member of the former Sheriff's Posse, with a little extra something as well from my deputies." He sees their surprised looks. "It's not a trap, I promise."

Will leans down to pick up the bag, almost falling over at the weight of it. He manages to toss it to Nanosounds who easily catches it and slings it over her shoulder without also toppling over. "If you say so," Will says to Martyn.

"Thanks," Martyn says. He moves towards the console in the jail, activating it. The Vault Hunters watch as he brings up the database of bounties, finding Rythian and Ravs, deleting the request for approval before their eyes. "Happy now?" He cheerfully asks them. 

"Yes," Rythian says, glad that there's no longer a price on his head (and Ravs' head too).

Martyn proceeds to bring up a map of the region they're in, zooming out until an even bigger region appears to include the one they're in. "Now, the power core can be found in Earl's Scrapyard in an old armaments factory nearby that's still running off of it. Or so I last heard from my sources, anyway," He explains.

Their HUDs pings as Martyn sends them the coordinates. "You sure that's where we can find a power core?" Rythian asks, just to be sure.

"Positive. I'll try my best to let you know of any others since power cores around these parts are as rare as a skag having quadruplets and not eating at least one of them," He says. At the disgusted looks on Lalna, Nanosounds and Will's faces, Martyn raises an blond eyebrow. "You've never heard of that saying before?"

"They're not from around these parts," Rythian informs him, resisting the urge to chuckle.

"Ah, that'd explain it," Martyn says, sounding amused. Martyn escorts them to the train station. "Good luck. Give Turps my regards, won't you?"

"Sure," Nanosounds says, distracted by the possible loot in the bag on her shoulder to notice Will looking annoyed at having to say 'hi' to Turps for Martyn.

\--

Once they're back on the train, Nanosounds opens the bag once they're all seated close together. She gasps. There's a ridiculous amount of money in there, neatly split into rubber-banded stacks; Will manages to evenly split it up amongst them. Underneath the money sits a cluster of eridium bars.

Rythian automatically reaches in and hands one to Nanosounds.

She takes it from him with both hands.

He draws back, expecting some sort of explosion or her tattoos to flare in the next second, preparing to draw a gun if he has to. When nothing happens, she gives him an odd look, putting away the bar into her inventory. He blinks, suppressing his slightly disappointed reaction. He'd hypothesized as much, but still.

Something deeper inside of him, the part of him that he can't deny that he shares with Ravs and Teep, sighs at the lost chance to fight a Siren. He ignores it in favor of taking more bars from the bag, trying not to let the metal touch his bare skin.

Lalna and Will give him odd looks that he also ignores. His promise of talking presses against the back of his mind but he waves it away. Like the money, they divide up the eridium amongst themselves. Rythian gingerly takes his full share of the alien metal; he doesn't like it, considering its origins and effects but it's still useful if one knows the right place to spend it.

Lalna seems fascinated by it, turning his bar this way and that in his hands to admire the purple sheen. Rythian moves out of the seat next to Nanosounds into another one across the aisle.

Rythian holds his tongue on explaining what it is, letting Nanosounds do so instead because it's a sore topic for him (being almost on the same level as his nightmares). Will likely sees it as an additional form of currency, judging by his calculating look. Rythian turns to open up his HUD, charting a route to Earl's Scrapyard. 

No news is good news, right?

Ravs hasn't called in- _oh fuck_. Ravs' job.

"Did you find the gun?" Rythian asks, exiting out of his HUD. His question drags the other's attention away from the eridium, turning heads. 

"What gun?" Will asks, pushing up his sunglasses (having exchanged his hat for his sunglasses).

"The gun that Ravs and Teep asked us to find?" Rythian reminds them, inwardly amused because he hadn't even had to corral them into remaining focused on the primary mission after all. Will and Nanosounds exchange horrified glances at one another for forgetting to find the gun.

Lalna is the only one who doesn't react, looking very suspicious as he looks away and out of the train's window (the beginnings of a sunset falling over the horizon). Nanosounds leans so that he can't avoid her. His eyes briefly flicker over to her before it returns to the window. He pointedly does not look at her, even as she raises an eyebrow.

"Lalna, do you know something we don't know," She begins carefully.

"Nope!" Lalna automatically replies, far too quickly for them to not suspect something.

"Did you go finding the gun without telling us?" She prods him in the arm with a finger. He uneasily shifts in his seat under her scrutinizing gaze.

"Maybe," He admits.

"Did you find it?" Will cuts in, moving to take the seat across from Lalna. He and Nanosounds have intense looks on their faces.

Lalna doesn't answer. Instead, he quickly gets out of his seat to sit in the window seat next to Rythian. Rythian briefly puzzles over his behavior but then realizes that Lalna had very likely found the gun and had predicted this happening.

Before Rythian can intervene, Nanosounds reacts.

"You did, you little-" Nanosounds shouts, launching herself at Lalna and forgetting Rythian is in her way.

Rythian instinctively reacts the only way he knows how to a Siren charging at him: by teleporting himself away. He drops onto empty seats, sprawling awkwardly across them before managing to sit up, his heart having skipped a beat but he knows it'll soon settle. He feels a slight weight hanging off his arm. Rythian glances over and is surprised at the sight he sees.

Lalna's hanging onto his arm from when he'd grabbed Rythian the moment Nanosounds had lunged at him. Lalna blinks at the shift in setting, letting go when he sees Rythian staring. Both of Lalna's hands fly to his mouth as he abruptly sits up.

"Don't puke on me," Rythian says, unable to help sounding worried. Lalna visibly struggles with his nausea for a few seconds before he reclining in his seat with a slight groan. Rythian sheepishly adds, "I didn't mean to teleport you as well."

"You really weren't going to leave me to deal with those two alone, were you?" Lalna gives him a look.

"No," Rythian lies.

"I didn't think they'd get so worked up over this thing," Lalna mutters after looking around and seeing that Nanosounds and Will aren't going to burst in on them. Rythian thinks he might have teleported them several carriages away but he can't be sure if it's to the back of or to front of the train. Lalna pulls out said gun.

"SWAPPING WEAPONS!" The gun screams. Lalna almost drops it in shock, fumbling and catching it in time before it clatters to the carriage's floor. Rythian just stares at the gun.

"Did the gun just scream?" Rythian asks.

"Hold on," Lalna says. He exchanges it for another gun, before swapping it out again. It screams again but Lalna doesn't drop it in surprise this time, his eyes widening instead.

Rythian gently bites the inside of his cheek (mindful of his teeth) so he doesn't end up laughing; no wonder why Teep had wanted to send it to HybridPanda.

Anyone forced to listen to said gun on a daily basis (no matter how well it performs) would be driven to suicide. Of course Teep would want to get rid of HybridPanda, even if they had to play dirty to succeed. And of course Ravs wouldn't have a clue about the gun, not exactly being well-versed in guns compared to Teep. Implications briefly run through Rythian's mind.

"Are you going to hand it to over to Ravs or HybridPanda?" Rythian finally asks, watching Lalna fiddle with the gun and getting a feel for it. It remains silent, that is, until Lalna reloads it (causing it to scream again and startling them both).

"I'm keeping it," Lalna unexpectedly says.

" _What_ ," Rythian says for what feels like the third time that day. "You can't keep it, that gun is going to kill you," He quickly points out.

"I think it's bullshit," Lalna stubbornly replies. "The gun killing people, I mean. It's not that bad once you get used to it. The previous owners clearly couldn't handle it."

"Lalna, you can't keep it."

"What are you going to do, Rythian, take it off me?" Lalna coolly looks at him. Rythian realizes that Lalna thinks that he's after the gun as well now that he's seen it.

"No, because that gun's now yours and you can do whatever you want with it." He pauses when Lalna looks skeptical. "I'm just pointing out that if the gun has a history of killing its owners by attracting gun collectors or driving them to suicide, then maybe you should rethink keeping it," Rythian adds.

Lalna falls silent. The silence stretches out comfortably, neither of them in a rush to push forward or argue, painfully aware of the events that'd happened prior to arriving in Lynchwood.

"If it becomes a problem, I'll throw it away," Lalna finally says, albeit a tad unhappily. He puts the gun back into his inventory.

"We should wait until Nanosounds and Strife cool down first before we find them," Rythian proposes.

"Or they find us," Lalna says, looking straight at him while chewing his lower lip.

"I can always teleport us onto the top of the train," Rythian offers, earning an alarmed look from Lalna. Lalna rapidly shakes his head. "They'll never think to look there," Rythian adds, making sure that it doesn't sound like he's joking.

"No thanks," is Lalna's immediate reply. Rythian can't help but laugh (earning a slight smile from Lalna) as the train resumes its journey back to the Dust and they can resume their journey from there.

\--

Sjin stretches, listening to his bones audibly crack and pop from hours spent pouring over meticulous, detailed notes and chasing up one loose thread after another, following a trail that couldn't be hidden from him, no matter how hard the previous owner of the mining rig had tried to do so.

At last, Sjin spies the last file in its hiding space at the back of the filing cabinet. He wrestles it out over the top of other, unrelated files, finally managing to extract it. It's bulky, 'CONFIDENTIAL' marked across the front in faded red ink in handwriting that's grown all too familiar to Sjin at this point. He sits cross-legged on the floor, shoving the cabinet shut with a clang of metal.

It's all slowly coming together. He's just missing a few pieces (pawns, for starters).

He cracks the file open, excitement causing his hands to shake. Loose sheets (all of them intricate drawings and diagrams in indecipherable, erratic handwriting that's clearly not the mining rig's previous owner) flutter out, falling this way and that.

Sjin disregards the loose sheets for the time being, fishing out a battered leather bound thesis that's bloodied, charred and scratched across the cover as if somebody had attempted to destroy it but failed, leaving it to fall into his hands. He wonders if they couldn't bring themselves to do so or had been interrupted.

"Oh ho, this will make for some interested bedtime reading," Sjin says to himself once he's finished taking in the title. "Too bad you didn't hide it well enough," He softly adds (the comment directed at either the author of the thesis or the mining rig's previous owner, both of them absent from Sjin's current location).

The thesis is titled 'Findings from excavations of a Vault on Pandora complete with a detailed study of an artifact extracted from within and discussions of further implications for our understanding of Eridian technology and history'. 

Sjin's eyes drift down to the authors, all of them scratched out (to the point that Sjin couldn't have even tried to start guessing their identities) save for one remaining: Rythian.

Recognizing the name causes Sjin to smile. He clutches the thesis to his chest, shifting onto his knees to start picking up the scattered loose sheets of paper to carefully file them back where they belong, back with the thesis. If Rythian had taken such care to preserve them despite being 'useless' scribblings, then he should obviously do so as well, out of respect.

Also, they'll be because they'll be useful while Sjin's reading the thesis, just in case Rythian's left out something important on the scrap pieces of paper that hadn't quite made it into his thesis. He can't afford to let every little bit of knowledge slip by him that might cost him in the long run.

Sjin is going to do Sips' death proud, _he knows it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~22, 800 words. the halfway point for 'the last vault hunter' is likely to be the next chapter, but as i continue planning and writing scenes, that is always liable to change. never fear, i'm also planning out the next few 'btb' fic at the same time. i am also aiming to get at least one chapter or fic out once per month, either midway or near the end of the month.
> 
> martyn is aiming to acquire an army of toms. this is why he's so glad that the vault hunters returned with them because it meant he wouldn't have to start from scratch. i'm not going to write out a profile for all four (or more?) toms so you're free to use your imagination as to which toms are deputies! it's totally not because i'm lazy, nope. it should also be pretty obvious as to which tom is a deputy for sure though (hint: gta vids on the main channel).
> 
> the former sheriff's posse probably just walked right up to the deputies and went 'let's go for a walk' and hilariously enough, both deputies agreed. they actually did think that they'd get kidnapped but didn't think the posse would actually carry it out. that's how i imagine they got kidnapped in the first place. IF YOU DO COME UP WITH SOMETHING COOLER, I'D LOVE TO HEAR IT (bonus points if it doesn't involve guns, threats of being shot or for actually involving creative use of game mechanics).
> 
> the gun that lalna acquired is the bane! if you have never seen the bane in action, then you should obviously go and look it up right now on youtube. just wait until lalna actually gets around to using it in battle. it is going to be amazing. for everybody else? not so much.
> 
> i am ridiculously proud of the thesis title i came up with for rythian's. also, bonus trivia fact: that is not rythian's first thesis but it is the last one he ever wrote before he went on a life-changing journey that may or may not be the same one he's on right now.
> 
> with ptsd (and with some other mental health issues, like depression) is that sometimes, pushing people to talk just makes things worse. in some cases, it may actually be the first of many steps to recovery but it varies from person to person. i've tried to write both sides of the situation. i hope i've managed convey how rythian feels when being pushed to talk.
> 
> this method of getting people to open up is not to be attempted irl since it may exacerbate the problem. however, there are hotlines and professionals who can help and who are qualified to assist. you can find these hotlines over [here](http://mentalillnessmouse.tumblr.com/post/21961172409/accepting-help-is-brave-hotlinescrisis-lines), [here](http://togetherweare-strong.tumblr.com/helpline) and [here](http://festeringfae.tumblr.com/hotlines).
> 
> too bad that this support doesn't exist on pandora (and i highly doubt that rythian would even make use of them even if he knew they existed). in any case, rythian is beginning to crack in that he admits that okay, there might be a problem. despite becoming aware of the fact that he is not as alone as he thinks he is, he is really hoping that the others forget about him promising to talk about his ptsd. i briefly covered on why in an ask a while back (over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/post/127301629804/hello-i-really-like-your-writing-like-i-dont)). 
> 
> this was a very long ramble. thank you for reading nonetheless and go forth and enjoy the chapter doodles (over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/post/128912005249/this-is-supposedly-what-really-happened-according) and [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/post/128912007414/this-is-not-the-first-time-ive-accidentally)) as drawn by the splended siins!


	7. Make Them Die Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a standard warning for gun related violence and body horror. there is a scene where somebody (i'm not going to tell you who but i can safely say that they're not a vault hunter) gets electrocuted almost to death. there is also an instance where somebody suggests suicide as a means to an end. i think that's about it for warnings. please heed the warnings and take care while reading!

Nanosounds' fingers curl around the door handle to the next train carriage. Through the grimy glass, she can see Rythian (with his back to the door) with Lalna next to him. The two are sharing a seat. She makes room for Will Strife so that he can also peer through the glass at the two.

Lalna has the coveted gun in his hand and is appearing to admire it. A moment later, it vanishes from view.

She can't help but seethe with rage for Lalna daring to sneak away in favor of finding a gun; granted, it's for a job so they wouldn't have been able to keep it in the end but _still_. She's about to slide the door open and burst into the carriage to demand the gun from Lalna when Strife leans over.

He places one of his hands on her tattooed one, stopping her.

His hand is warm and dusty, both rough and smooth in places. She glares at him. Her Siren power inwardly flexes at her irritation, her sense of control weakening so that she almost gives in to the violent impulse on the spot. Just in time, she smacks down the urge to use her powers on Strife, restoring her control.

Now that he's got her attention, Will slowly shakes his head and takes his hand away. Both of his hands end up in the pockets of his trousers. When he speaks, it's in a slightly sheepish tone. "Don't you think we're overreacting to Lalna finding the gun first?"

"No, he should have told us he was going after it instead of ditching us like that!" Nanosounds takes her hand off the handle to directly face him. She can't help but snap at him, also bristling at the suggestion of letting Lalna get away with it.

"So he ditched us. I doubt we'd have been able to find it otherwise with us tagging along," Will says. He pushes his sunglasses further up onto his forehead, shifting on the spot. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"No, I don't," She says after a long pause. "Explain, if you don't mind."

"In all fairness, he did get the gun, even if he had to be sneaky about it. So it's technically his to hang onto," Will explains. "I think we're just upset about the fact that he chose the gun over us."

Nanosounds opens her mouth to argue but at the last moment, she realizes that Will's right: she's more upset that Lalna chose to go behind their backs. The gun is simply a pretense.

Most of her anger vanishes, leaving just plain hurt behind. She chooses not to say anything, knowing that she looks unhappy. She turns her gaze back onto Lalna and Rythian via the window so she doesn't have to look at Strife.

"Forget about the gun. We had a job to do at the time and frankly, it's a miracle that he remembered the gun in the middle of all that chaos," Will gently says. "He came back to us, so it's not like he ditched us for long and he did fess up in the end. I think he trusted us to finish the job anyway-"

"Urgh, _fine_ , but I'm not going to forgive him that easily," She groans, interrupting him. She throws both of her hands up into the air, having heard enough from Strife to see his point. Her frustrated action earns her a small, satisfied smile from him.

"You don't have to," Will points out. "But do cut him some slack?" He raises an eyebrow at her. "He also hasn't been on this planet for as long as we have."

"I'll _try_ ," She says, the last word sarcastic. Will snorts and moves past her to open the door. The door jams. Will grunts and it rattles open at last.

Lalna's head snaps up at the sound. Rythian simply turns to calmly look at Strife and Nanosounds. Lalna looks just a touch worried.

Nanosounds flops into the window seat on Lalna and Rythian's far left on the other side of the carriage, her arms crossed over her chest. Strife takes the seat next to her. He peers at Lalna who is giving them an inquiring look.

"We've decided you can keep the gun," Will calmly informs Lalna.

"Really?" Lalna sounds hopeful but suspicious at the same time. Rythian's gaze flicks between the two of them.

Nanosounds huffs in her seat besides Will. "Not like we can just take it off you because that would be mean," She mutters out loud, visibly sulking.

"You heard the Siren," Will says. "Just hand it over to Ravs or send it off since it's up to you."

"Actually, I'm keeping it," Lalna says in a small voice, looking like he's bracing himself for an argument. Nanosounds sits up straight with a scowl on her face but Will turns his head to look straight at her.

After a moment, she returns to mutinously slumping down in her seat.

She stares straight ahead at all the remaining empty seats in the carriage. Lalna breathes out in relief. Will catches sight of Rythian looking inquisitive but Will shakes his head. Rythian silently accepts the cue to drop the issue and turns away to to stare out the window past Lalna's head.

The rest of the train ride is spent in a slightly strained but otherwise, comfortable silence.

\--

By the time they reach the Dust, night is falling fast but with the light of Elpis coupled with the dimly lit lights outside of the station, it's easy for them to find the Catch-A-Ride machine nearby. Rythian states that he's not driving until he's caught up on sleep (even if it pains him a little to admit as much out loud to them).

A game of rock, paper and scissors ensue to decide driving shifts; Strife wins in the first shift for driving, followed by Lalna and lastly, Nanosounds. It's only now she's feeling the strain on her body from having used her Siren powers so much. She can't help but yawn as her head and her entire body aches with a soreness that pulls at her every muscle.

One look at her and Will Strife declares that Lalna is going to ride shotgun in the turret.

Lalna looks at her. She tries not to look at him but he looks guilty for Strife presuming as much about her. Strife's already marched off to digistruct their ride. Rythian climbs into the back once the technical's digistructed. He rests his feet on the back frame, pulling out a flask that he drinks from.

She decides that Strife has an extremely good point. She's never felt so tired before, having only ever used her powers in moderation and without having to exert so much control at all once. It's like she's hitting the limit of what she can do. That doesn't please her at all: she should be capable of so much more.

That calls for more experimenting with her Siren powers. She hasn't done that since she was a teenager.

In any case, Nanosounds just nods (but it still doesn't erase the somewhat guilty look from Lalna's face) and climbs into the back of the technical with Rythian. Rythian caps the flask and pulls his scarf back up over the lower half of his face.

Before Strife and Lalna can climb in, the ground shakes, causing the technical to bounce and their surroundings to tremble.

They all start, looking around for the source of the disturbance. Eventually, Rythian looks up into the sky, their gazes following his.

From space, a giant beam of bright, burning light is coming down to strike something unknown far off in the distance; it continues shining in the darkness, causing the ground to continue shaking under the impact of it. 

They're all struck silent by the sight which roots them to the spot, unable to take their eyes off of it.

It finally fades, the ground going still. The darkness rushes to fill the hole that the light had cut through as if it'd never happened in the first place. The spiderants resume their nighttime cries and the wind whistling past the Vault Hunters, idly stirring up sand particles.

Nanosounds tears her eyes away from where it'd hit, the beam having left a glowing white silhouette impressed on her vision.

She blinks and rubs her eyes to try to get rid of it. She directs her gaze at the others to see their reactions. Strife just looks shocked while Rythian and Lalna's faces have both gone pale, their eyes wide.

"What was _that_?" Rythian says in a low voice, his tone and expression unreadable. Nanosounds can't place if it's fear or shock.

"Whatever it was, it looked like a laser," Strife replies, unable to help sounding a little unnerved. He shudders, appearing to regather his composure and straightening his waistcoat with a tug.

"What's in that direction?" Lalna quietly asks. He points where the laser had struck, the fingers of his metal hand shaking. Even though Rythian and Strife have recovered, Lalna still looks shaken by the sight. Rythian says something that they all can't quite catch.

"Did you say something, Rythian?" Nanosounds asks upon getting her voice to finally work. She stares at Rythian, waiting patiently. He heaves a small sigh, looking like he's about to deeply regret whatever he says next.

"The Badass Crater of Badassitude," Rythian reluctantly says, looking as if he'd rather not be saying the name of the place out loud.

"Are you serious?" Lalna asks, sounding like he's suppressing the urge to laugh.

"Didn't catch that," Strife says with a grin that's all too visible by the light of the moon.

"I said, the Badass Crater of Badassitude!" Rythian shouts at him. Lalna, Strife and Nanosounds can't help but crack up. Rythian just mutters something disparaging but they don't pay it or him any mind.

"Seriously, what's at the Badass Crater of Badassitude?" Lalna says once he's stopped laughing. 

"An arena," Rythian says. "I'll check with Ravs, hold on, he knows that place better than I do."

Rythian gestures for Strife and Lalna to get into the technical as he dials Ravs on his ECHO. Ravs doesn't pick up.

Suspecting the worst, Rythian tries again, closing his eyes and hoping that Ravs will pick up. The alcohol from the flask is making his head swim a little but he's got enough of a grasp on his faculties to make the call without having to concentrate too hard.

Strife sets a course for the scrapyard and turns the technical onto the right road. The technical starts to pick up speed, bumping along the road as the stars start coming into view overhead.

Lalna's got his ECHO radio set to FyreUK again, the volume turned down low but still loud enough for all of them to hear. They catch the tail end of a song before Matt's voice cheerfully announces, "And that was Euphemia by the Bloody Bandits! Stay tuned for more of their music right after this advertisement..."

Halfway through the next song, Rythian's succeeds in his fifth attempt at calling Ravs. Lalna turns off the radio as Rythian adds them all to the call.

Relief floods Rythian but he doesn't see Ravs’ ECHO portrait; the call is filled with static and the sound of gunfire. There's also other sounds like he can't quite make out. Is that the sound of a crowd cheering and screaming for more blood?

Rythian checks the connection and sees that it's shaky at best. He has definitely called the right person.

"Ravs! We just saw a laser strike the Badass Crater area," Rythian begins. Lalna snorts. Rythian continues, pointedly ignoring him, "Why can I hear gunfire?" A shotgun goes off, the sound extremely close as if Ravs is doing the shooting.

"Rythian!" Ravs says, sounding distracted, "How's tracking down that power core?" The shotgun goes off again. This time, it's accompanied by the sound of someone screaming. It sounds suspiciously like Honeydew. Somebody who sounds like Xephos yelps in the background as a giant crash sounds.

An engine roars past Ravs, close enough for it to ruffle Ravs' clothing as it passes. Ravs swears and fires his shotgun. Rythian hears the bullets ping off metal. The sound of the engine rapidly fades as the crowd goes wild.

"Ravs, what's going on?" Rythian ignores Ravs' attempt at distracting him by answering his question with a question. "Is Sanctuary Hole under attack?'

"No, no! Everything's all right at Sanctuary Hole since Nilesy and Turps are holding the fort down for me," Ravs answers, far too quickly.

Unsatisfied and unimpressed by Ravs' evasiveness, Rythian impatiently asks, "What are you doing away from Sanctuary Hole?"

"Nothing that's illegal-" Ravs fires his shotgun again at the approaching sound of an engine. The sound of screeching metal and a distant explosion drowns the rest of Ravs' words. Ravs lets out out a loud, pleased (and chilling) laugh that Rythian hasn't heard in a long, long time.

"Ravs, please answer the question," Rythian impatiently says.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Rythian, you know that, right?" Ravs says brightly as if nothing incriminating had just happened.

"Right," Rythian says, not hiding the skepticism in his voice. "You wouldn't lie to me because as you said, you're up to nothing 'illegal' right now."

"Don't be like that, Rythian," Ravs says, all cajoling sweetness. "What I'm doing right now, is nothing that you should worry your pretty little head about. Besides, it's perfectly well within my rights as an aspiring property owner to..."

A creak of metal accompanied by the sound of metal beams breaking apart draws Ravs' attention away. He falls silent.

"What-" Rythian starts, alarmed by the sounds but Ravs smoothly interrupts him. 

"I'll call you back, okay?" He cuts the call on a forced, cheerful note before Rythian can get more words in.

Frustrated, Rythian can only stare at his ECHO, having half a mind to call up Ravs again. Knowing that he won't get any answers even if he does, Rythian just rests his head against the technical and swallows his frustration as best as he can.

"What was that all about?" Strife immediately asks from the driver's seat.

"I don't know," Rythian admits with some reluctance, catching sight of Nanosounds out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't even noticed that she'd nodded off during the call, dropping out as a result.

She's fallen fast asleep, lightly snoring away next to him. Her body's curled up in the corner, her head having dropped down to rest against her shoulder. A pang of envy hits Rythian at her ability to sleep so soundly but he immediately crushes it. It's not her fault that he can't.

Rythian leans across to gently move her next to him. She's not that light but he doesn't have to exert that much effort to succeed. He gently lifts her head so that it's resting on his shoulder. He does the same with the rest of her body so that it's leaning snugly against his.

Satisfied that she's not going to wake up with a sore neck and body, Rythian spies Lalna attempting to catch his attention with a wave of his hand.

"Take this!" He whispers, passing down his lab coat. Rythian snatches it before it can flutter away and securely tucks it around Nanosounds.

"Thanks," Rythian whispers back, unsure if Sirens are affected that much by the cold but it's the thought that counts, right?

"No worries," Lalna replies, deliberately dragging out the 'worries' and horribly mangling its pronunciation before continuing in a concerned tone, "You trust he'll call you back? It sounded like he was in trouble." Lalna turns a slow circle in the turret, surveying the darkness with his goggles pulled over his eyes, the wind constantly ruffling his blond hair.

"He will," Rythian firmly says. "And it didn't sound like he was in trouble."

"How can you tell?" This comes from Strife.

"A hunch," Rythian says with a shrug.

He has a vague idea of what Ravs is up to but is going to keep his suspicions private, choosing to trust Ravs despite being frustrated with him. Rythian smothers a yawn with his hand. The excitement now over, his exhaustion has returned with a vengeance, draining away the last of his resistance against nodding off. 

The alcohol in his system is also kicking in at last. Rythian makes himself comfortable in his own corner of the technical, taking off his scarf and using it as a makeshift pillow. He hopes that Nanosounds doesn't end up drooling on him.

"I'll wake you when we need to switch drivers," Lalna says. Rythian nods before closing his eyes (and his sleep is full of darkness but no disturbances).

\--

Two hours of searching the abandoned armaments plant and they've found nothing but spiderants that have moved in and countless colonies of dust bunnies.

To both Will and Lalna's delight, they'd found usable parts for their respective turret and Loader. Knowing the seriousness of their primary mission though, they had simply stashed the parts in their inventories and continued helping Rythian and Nanosounds carefully comb the facility.

Even after turning the power room upside down and on top of checking every possible nook and cranny, the power core that Martyn had said was located in the plant is still nowhere to be found.

"I'm beginning to think Martyn pulled a fast one on us," Will mutters, leaning against one of the tables and taking off his cowboy hat to fan himself with it. He plops the hat back onto his head and digistructs a canteen to take a long, much-needed swing of water before despawning it.

"He could have," Nanosounds agrees, tossing items from the rusting lockers over her shoulder so they end up on the floor in one giant messy heap. Some expired cans of food start rolling away. "Nothing in these lockers!" She loudly reports.

Will's eyes land on the heap when she tosses an item over her shoulder before she moves to the next locker.

Will proceeds to give her a look of dismay that she doesn't notice. He moves from his spot to patiently gather up all the items beginning to roll away. Kneeling next to the pile of discarded items, he starts separating and stacking items into separate, neat and tidy piles.

Nanosounds doesn't notice, continuing to empty the lockers in a haphazard manner. Will just keeps picking items up as she tosses them out.

"Keep searching!" Rythian shouts from one of the side rooms above them on the next floor.

He comes out of the room and steps onto the metal bridge, followed by a dusty Lalna. Rythian leans heavily on the railing, resting his elbows on top of it and letting his hands hang out over the edge. With mild amusement, Rythian watches Will sort items as fast as Nanosounds is throwing them over her shoulder.

"What a giant waste of time," Lalna sighs. He turns to gaze upon the room rather than watching Will and Nanosounds.

The room itself is at the very back of the armament plant with only a single door marking both entry and exit. Movement from behind some long-dead machinery draws his gaze. He squints, pulling down his goggles and switching to 'zoom'. 

It must have been a spiderant that somehow managed to follow them indoors but it's too human-shaped. The figure is dressed in a patchy formal Dahl military uniform, the power core tucked under their arm. As if sensing somebody watching them, they glance straight at Lalna. A lone blue eye stares straight at Lalna before they edging towards the back door.

"The power core! Somebody's got it!" Lalna's shout of alarm echoes around the room.The back door slams open with a bang as the thief makes their escape.

Nanosounds and Will are already barging out the back door after them, the two of them cursing and abandoning their tasks.

Rythian expertly vaults over the railing and rolls upon his landing, smoothly transitioning into a sprint. He follows the two out the door. Lalna clumsily follows him over the railing, only barely managing to land on both his feet to stumble after the others.

The thief's already ducked through a hole in the fence, running in the direction of the scrapyard.

Lalna is beginning to feel his lungs and leg muscles beginning to burn with the effort of the pursuit. There is _no way_ that they're going to let that power core out of their sight, having come so close to it and only for someone to steal it right out from under their noses.

With an outstretched hand, Nanosounds summons several towering tentacles (that leave splotchy purple stains on the ground around them) ahead of the figure. Rythian would have told her that it'd been overkill, considering the size of them but at this point, he doesn't care.

The figure deftly dodges the swings headed their way by sidestepping and ducking in the right places without slowing down once. Rythian, Lalna and Will Strife are forced to split up as they duck and dodge around the tentacles as well.

Nanosounds vanishes them a second later, letting out a shout of rage. "Get the fuck back here!" She shouts, her tattoos _blazing_.

The figure's managed to climb their way up to the top of a hill of scrap. Discarded metal, machinery and items scatter to the foot of the hill in the wake of their lengthy climb.

They pause at the top, the sun at their back obscuring their face.

The power core under their arm vanishes, replaced by a rocket launcher that is hefted onto their shoulder. Rythian barely has time to grab the nearest person, who is Nanosounds. They duck behind a run down shack, right as the figure launches several rockets that home in on them and the other two Vault Hunters.

"I hope you don't mind tetanus!" They shout.

Rythian barely hears them (they sound horribly _familiar_ ) over the impact of the rockets toppling the shack and the rest of the scenery exploding all around them. He hustles Nanosounds out of the way of the falling sheets of metal, glad that the shack's served its purpose as a shield well.

Through the giant cloud of smoke and dust thrown up, Rythian's eyes pick up movement all around him, mostly debris settling. He sets about picking out recognizable human shapes aside from the one next to him. He sees none, much to his worry.

"Lalna!" Nanosounds shouts over the smoke and debris scattered around them. She coughs, frantically waving away the smoke and looking around, her tattoos having returned to their inert state. "Say something! Anything!" 

"I'm fine!" Lalna shouts from behind a charred and melted stacked of light runner frames. He emerges, unscathed but looking a little shaken up.

"Strife!" Rythian calls, dreading silence.

"You go on ahead, I'll catch up!" Will's voice floats out over a giant stack of metal that'd toppled over, blocking him off from them. "Go! You can't lose him!" Will firmly insists when Rythian is about to ask about his status. 

He can't hear anything like pain in Will's voice and has to conclude that Will is fine, just unable to reach them for now. 

"We'll meet up later!" Nanosounds calls back. Will shouts something back but they're already moving, missing out on what he says.

Rythian, Lalna and Nanosounds sprint up the hill that the figure had ran up, mindful of the hill seems ready to collapse and come apart at any moment. Metal bits and pieces fall down the hill with every step. 

Lalna stumbles but Rythian catches him by the arm. He lets go once Lalna regains his footing. There's no time for thanks.

Amazingly, the hill remains standing.

The figure is carefully picking their way down the other side when they hear the three approach. They whirl around, snapping off another round of rockets straight at them. Without the sun blinding him this time, Rythian can see the figure's features properly. He knows that face. They appear to recognize him as well, their eyes widening.

Unfortunately, the rockets have already been fired and are rapidly homing in on them.

As they hurtle straight towards them, time distorts for Rythian. He's already made his choice before the choices can present themselves to him, both his hands reaching out. He grabs hold of the back of Lalna's shirt and Nanosounds’ arm, yanking them through space with him to safety. 

All he'd thought about had been getting out of the way of those rockets.

He hadn't actually counted on actually teleporting, having intended to dive out of the way of the rockets towards the bottom of the hill. Lalna and Nanosounds have thrown their hands over their faces and closed their eyes in anticipation of the rockets hitting them, so they have no idea what's currently happening. 

It's beginning to unsettle Rythian in that this isn't his usual method of teleporting: this is something else entirely (like back on the train). He momentarily panics, casting his gaze around for a destination. He picks the first thing he sees and wills himself with Nanosounds and Lalna in tow over.

He immediately lets go of them once they land. The teleporter hanging off his belt is cold, not at all uncomfortably warm like it usually is after a teleport.

His teleport has inadvertently placed them onto the yellow, mostly rusted crane above the figure's head. Thankfully, they're on a platform, not directly on top of the crane and being forced to balance themselves on the narrow beams up there. Rythian shakes the feeling of having narrowly avoided death with his choice and action.

The figure blinks, staring at the spot where the three Vault Hunters had been standing before, puzzled at how they'd disappeared into thin air. The rocket launcher on their shoulder vanishes. They start backing away from the hill, visibly spooked.

Lalna and Nanosounds open their eyes and lower their hands, blinking. To them, one second, they'd been on top of the hill and the next, they're not.

Lalna lets out a frightened whimper, clinging to Nanosounds once he realizes their location. He covers his mouth with a hand, looking nauseous. Nanosounds pats him on the back, letting him cling to her, one of her hands curling around one of the metal rungs for support.

The two of them glance at Rythian, realizing that they've got the element of surprise on their side.

Their glances aren't questioning at all since they'd just simply assumed he'd just teleported them to safety. He doesn't have time to tell them about his concerns or his immediate plan, worried that the figure will spot them and run off before they can make a move.

Rythian sucks in a deep breath, finds his feet and dives off the crane. There's no time for him to stop and question what had just happened.

Lalna and Nanosounds shout their alarm, drawing the figure's attention.

By then, Rythian's teleported himself in mid-air to tackle the figure to the ground. The speed he's built up from his fall causes him to slam into the figure and the two of them to roll across the ground. Rythian's managed to grab onto them and refuses to let go, even as the figure struggles wildly.

The two of them come to a stop several metres away. The figure turns their head to one side and spits out a mouthful of dust. Rythian's pinning them to the ground with his entire body weight, his hands curled in their jacket. A name drifts into his mind.

"Zylus?" Rythian breathes. The relief that his recent most teleport hadn't been like the last one is replaced by surprise.

"Rythian?" Zylus wheezes and blinks, holding up a hand to block out the sun as his remaining eye (a dark brown in color) squints at Rythian.

"I knew it!" Rythian exclaims.

"I didn't recognize you because I thought you were dead!" Zylus exclaims in response.

"I know, I've been getting that a lot lately," Rythian says, wincing. He climbs off Zylus, standing up and holding out a hand to him. Zylus gives a grateful nod, his face breaking out into a giant grin as Rythian hauls him to his feet.

Right before Zylus can say anything else, Will Strife appears out of nowhere and slugs Zylus hard across the face. Zylus goes down straightaway, knocked out cold. 

Rythian is unsure how to process what just happened. Will Strife looks a little worse for wear (his suit torn and scratched in places) but is mostly in one piece. He's breathing hard. He flexes and shakes the hand he'd used to punch Zylus.

"That's for ruining my favorite tie and destroying my cowboy hat!" Will pants. He laughs. It sounds shaky but triumphant. He stops when he sees the look on Rythian's face. "What, I thought that was a pretty good comeback. Why are you looking at me like that?" He asks, sounding puzzled.

"You just punched my friend in the face," Rythian explains mildly, also choosing not to say anything about Will's lost cowboy hat (it really had been a nice hat). 

"Oh." Will's shoulders slump. "Couldn't be helped, he's got a power core we need and he almost ran off with it too." The two of them stare in silence at the giant bruise forming on Zylus' cheek. Rythian then notices that Zylus hadn't been wearing a shield. That would explain why he'd gone down so easily.

"He should wake up eventually," Rythian says, to fill in the silence.

"Where's Nano and Lalna?" Will asks.

Rythian belatedly remembers where he'd left them, having forgotten about how to get them down.

He turns around to spy Nanosounds climbing down the side of the crane, Lalna hanging onto her back like some sort of arborous dwelling beast. The two make it to the ground but Nanosounds doesn't let Lalna climb off her back in favor of jogging over to them first.

Upon her arrival, Lalna slides off her back to the ground, closing his eyes and letting out a small, barely suppressed sound of discomfort.

"Don't mind him, he's just really nauseous," Nanosounds says. She nudges an unconscious Zylus with her boot. "So, why haven't you ripped them apart yet for the power core?"

"He's Rythian's friend," Will says. "Unless Rythian would like us to?"

"No," Rythian automatically says, ignoring the hopefulness in their gazes. "Even if he did shoot rockets at us."

"Oh. It'll be pretty awkward once he comes around then," Nanosounds says, sounding disappointed at being denied the chance to dish out more violence.

"That was a pretty good left hook, Strife," Rythian says to Will. "Do you work out?" He jokingly asks.

Will blinks before he smiles, looking visibly amused. "Yes, I do, actually."

Rythian doesn't know how to respond to that. Strife snickers at his reaction. Nanosounds decides to check up on Lalna while taking slow, deep breaths so that she doesn't laugh and checks up on Lalna.

Half an hour later, Zylus begins to stir.

Once he's opened his eyes, he lightly touches the bruise on his cheek, wincing slightly. He feels his feet hanging over the edge of something and a cold, hard surface under his back. He sits up to find himself in the back of a technical, having been moved while he'd been unconscious.

"He's awake!" Nanosounds announces from her perch in the turret seat. Rythian walks over.

"How do you feel?" Rythian asks him, peering at him with concern in his gaze.

"Like a Truxican pile drove me head-first into the ground," Zylus readily admits.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Will Strife awkwardly says from somewhere near the front of the technical. Zylus doesn't respond to that.

"So, Rythian, care to explain why you've been chasing me?" Zylus says conversationally.

Rythian simply points to Zylus' digistruct module hanging off of his belt. "You've got a power core we need."

"Oh, this thing! It's barely charged." Zylus laughs. "I can give you a better one if you accompany me back to T-Bone Junction where all my stuff is."

"Sure," Rythian agrees, looking at the others for objections. The others just look equally surprised and grateful at the offer, not a trace of suspicion or hostility to be seen.

Since that there's not enough room for all of them to ride in the technical, Will Strife digistructs his Stingray. After a bit of pestering from Nanosounds, he eventually lets her digistruct a copy of his Stingray that she hops on. Lalna rides shotgun as Rythian drives, Zylus remaining in the back of the technical.

"Race you," Will challenges her.

"Rematch? Sure," Nanosounds agrees with a grin.

Lalna's just glad he doesn't have to ride shotgun with her this time. On the other hand, he and Zylus do harass Rythian to drive as fast as possible to overtake them. Rythian ignores their backseat driving, taking enormous care to deliberately block Strife and Nanosounds from passing the technical, much to their displeasure.

Rythian just claims he's only driving like he always has and is only putting their safety first.

\--

The canyons and mountainous terrain eventually flatten out into a vast ocean of desert, a familiar sight to Lalna at this point. However, instead of winding roads buried by shifting dunes, the road rises above the ground. It's supported by circular towers spaced out at strategic intervals underneath. The road forms an unbroken highway that stretches far out into the horizon.

Lalna's never seen anything like it before.

He can't help but crane his head out over the edge of the turret as they drive on, swallowing back his unease at being so high up (remembering the crane back at the scrapyard). He stops peering over the edge as a town emerges into view. It sits on a giant series of platforms atop circular struts that vanish into the sand below.

He lets out an impressed whistle that appears to please Zylus. Zylus suddenly sits up and bangs on the technical's roof to get Rythian's attention.

"Stop!" He shouts, causing Rythian to slam the brakes and come to a jarring stop.

Lalna's metal elbow bangs into the turret railing. Lalna's glad that it's malfunctioning (he'll really have to find a spare moment to take a proper look at it) so he can't feel the resulting funny bone pain.

The Stingrays being driven by Strife and Nanosounds brake upon seeing the technical brake. Nanosounds and Strife shoot past the technical but put down their feet to bring themselves to a complete stop. The surprise on Will and Nanosounds' faces mirrors Lalna's.

"Zylus, what the _fuck_?" Rythian demands, turning around in the driver's seat to glare at Zylus.

"I got to disable the security systems," Zylus hurriedly explains. He stares off into the distance, apparently accessing his HUD. "Done," He finally announces. "You'd have been blasted into bits if you'd crossed that line there." He points past the Stingrays. The Vault Hunters glance where he points.

They see nothing.

Zylus cracks up at his own joke, clapping both of his hands. Rythian sighs as Will Strife, Nanosounds and Lalna can't help but laugh.

"Can we go on now?" Rythian impatiently asks.

"Sure, just keep driving," Zylus says, still snickering.

Lalna can see why Zylus hadn't been kidding about his security systems. He sees turrets positioned strategically around on the highway surrounding T-Bone Junction. They turn to watch the technical and the Stingrays pass by, thankfully not firing upon them.

Are those rocket launchers on top of the highest building he can see?

Inactive Loaders (painted over with green and brown camouflage paint) are folded up here and there, the light of their lone eye dull and grey. Unbranded worker bots similar to those that Lalna had seen working on dismantling Happy Pig Motel hibernate on one roof of a building.

Yellow tape criss-crosses across the doorways of a few buildings, much to Lalna's puzzlement.

The highway sign announcing T-Bone Junction above their heads has the words 'Population: 45' crudely painted on underneath in white paint. The '45' has been crossed out and replaced by a '1'.

Rythian brings the technical to a stop in the center of town. Will despawns the Stingrays.

Zylus hops out of the technical and leads them towards one of the buildings nearby. The shield overhead shimmers as it flickers back into place, engulfing them in the protective bubble it forms.

The town is quiet, the only sounds being their footsteps crunching on the tarmac. It's eerie. Lalna doesn't want to think about ghosts (he's never been good with horror). He nervously fidgets and sticks close to the others as they enter the building. He has the vaguest feeling he’s being watched.

The inside of the building is neat and tidy, with signs that Zylus has been living in it for a while now. There's also the absence of dust on every single surface. Zylus scourges up enough chairs and clears a table for them in one of the bigger rooms.

"Sit tight, I'll make you some tea," He says. "Sorry for the mess, I haven't had visitors in a long time." He sounds apologetic. They reassure him that it's perfectly fine but Zylus shakes his head as if unable to excuse his own lapse in housekeeping and rushes off to the kitchen.

After he comes back bearing mugs on a tray and hands them one each, Zylus flops down in one of the chairs with his own mug in hand. The tray goes on the table. Lalna holds his mug in both hands, content to let it cool for the time being.

"Why is the town so empty? I've never seen it like this before," Rythian says, asking the question that's been occupying Lalna's mind for the past five or so minutes.

"Oh, don't worry too much about it. Everyone's in a better place due to a plague that swept through here a while back," Zylus nonchalantly explains. That earns him a stare from the Vault Hunters. He shrugs.

"Explain," Rythian simply says, pulling down his scarf so he can sip his tea.

"Hyperion canceled the usual medical supply shipment for several weeks in a row. There simply wasn't enough medicine to go around or slow it."

"How are you still alive?" Nanosounds asks in a hushed tone.

"Ironically, I was out on a supply trip. When I came back, almost everybody had died and the plague had worn itself out," Zylus explains calmly. Lalna feels like his skin is crawling, his hair standing on end. He forgets about the mug of tea in his hand in favor of listening, unable to stop doing so.

"What did you do then?" Strife quietly asks.

"Cleaned up the place, buried the dead where the wildlife wouldn't scavenge the bodies." Zylus pauses to drink. "Did what I could to speed up the process for the people barely hanging in there." Zylus puts down his mug onto the table. He mimes reloading a shotgun, aiming it and pulling the trigger. He gives a hollow laugh after. "It's just been me ever since."

"I'm so sorry," Nanosounds says, meaning it. Zylus shrugs again.

"I also think I survived the clean-up because of the mandatory vaccines Dahl gives to every soldier under their service who isn't a private." Above Zylus' left eyebrow are two vertical silver bars implanted into the skin there. Zylus taps them with a finger. "I should probably get these removed. They fucking hurt in winter," He adds as a calm afterthought.

"Zylus, why didn't you tell anybody?" Rythian asks, clearly chagrined, "Or call for help?"

"It wouldn't have made much of a difference and it probably would have spread the plague outside of this town." Zylus stands up with a scraping sound of his chair. "That's enough about that. You said you needed a power core?" There's a tone of finality to Zylus' voice, indicating a change of subject that the Vault Hunters are only too happy to pursue.

"Yes, we need a power core," Nanosounds affirms. She puts her empty mug down next to Zylus' one, looking sympathetic.

Zylus walks over to one of storage units against the wall. He pulls out a drawer filled to the brim with power cores. "Which one?"

"You've been hoarding power cores all this time," Rythian deadpans.

"I do run one of the only airfields on this side of Pandora and possess one of the only functioning spaceships ever since all the major corporations fucked off back to the inner worlds," Zylus points out. "So I got to keep tight security measures."

"Fair enough," Rythian concedes. He rattles off a serial number.

Zylus digs around in the drawer, pulling out a power core and shutting the drawer. He turns to them, holding out the power core. Before any of them can move to take it, a thoughtful look appears on his face. He pockets the power core, much to their astonishment.

"Actually, I'll give you the power core if you do something for me first," He says with a devious glint in his eye. Nanosounds gets to her feet, looking livid.

"What?! That's not fair!" Nanosounds shouts. Zylus takes a wary step back from her, looking slightly nervous.

"Zylus, you bastard, did you invite us all the way back here promising a core and then make us do a favor for it? Sneaky." Rythian shakes his head, laughing softly. Surprisingly (to the other Vault Hunters, at least), he adds in an amused tone, "Okay, what do you want us to do?"

Zylus flashes a grin like Rythian's hit the nail on the head. "I got an old 'friend' hanging out in the Dahl Headland. I'd like you to go and kidnap him." He punctuates with word 'friend' with the fingers of both his hands in the shape of air quotes.

"Why can't we kill him?" Will asks, genuinely curious.

"Why are we _kidnapping_ him?" Lalna asks at the same time.

"Well, because I want him alive because he's a 'friend'." This time, the word 'friend' has a sarcastic tone to it. Zylus deliberately ignores Lalna's question.

"I get the feeling you're not telling us something," Rythian notes.

"And I get the feeling you badly need that power core," Zylus retorts.

"We'll go." Rythian stands, putting down his empty mug on the table. He decides to ask Zylus for information as well. "Is there anything else we need to know about this friend of yours?" He doesn't bother to mimic Zylus' actions or tone when the word 'friend' is mentioned.

"Lots of things!" Zylus cheerfully says. "One, his name's Daltos. Two, he's a Bandit Lord."

"Bandit Lord?" Lalna says in a slightly panicked voice.

"Please tell me you're joking," Strife says, sounding hopeful.

"Yep, Bandit Lord," Zylus affirms. "Three, good luck breaking into that bandit stronghold of his. You'll know it when you see it. Four, free to rough him up if he gives you any problems on the way back since he's got quite the mouth on him," Zylus lists, using his fingers to mark off each point.

"Is that all?" Lalna reluctantly asks, not at all looking forward to _kidnapping_ someone, especially if they're the leader of a bandit gang.

"I'd also wish you luck but I'd doubt you'd need it," Zylus says, snickering.

"Thanks, Zylus." Rythian says dryly. They need that power core and Rythian really doesn't want to beat up Zylus for it, even if the other Vault Hunters (sans Lalna, who is just looking unenthusiastic) look like they want to.

\--

Zylus lets them out of T-Bone Junction by lowering the shield for them.

Lalna watches the shield reform once the technical is far enough away. He doesn't have to watch the turrets to know that they're online once again, vigilant against any threats. The highway appears to stretch on forever before the technical until the road finally descends and places them properly onto solid ground once more.

Lalna takes the opportunity to take a quick nap instead of examining his arm. When Lalna wakes, he feels and sees that the technical is coming to a stop on a cliff overlooking a massive structure. The others climb out. In Nanosounds' case, she boldly handstands out of the turret before performing a front flip and landing on both her feet.

Zylus' words are coming back to Lalna. In particular, the bit about knowing Daltos' bandit stronghold on sight.

The stronghold consists of a mostly intact and crashed Dahl frigate which is a faded dark green in color. Will Strife lets out an impressed whistle at the sheer size of the frigate, the single lonely note dying on the wind.

Rythian exhales, simply taking in the sight, his eyes moving slowly over the frigate's exterior. He does not seem pleased at the fortress they have to infiltrate. Nanosounds has a hand over her eyes and is watching the bandits surrounding the frigate move.

Bandits are coordinating shipments (marked with 'SIPSCO.' on one side) into the frigate via technicals. Entire crews are suspended in mid-air on platforms along the length of the frigate, repairing where the frigate's fallen apart in places, welding pieces of metal into place.

Buzzards land and take off occasionally at designated landing zones, dropping off more supplies. A few land on the roof of the frigate onto a series of platforms, their pilots and passengers disengaging from the machines. Some of the Buzzards take off and head off in one direction away from the frigate, clearly on a mission.

Back on the ground, coordinated teams of bandits swarm around parked vehicles, conducting repairs and sending them off. They occasionally strip a rejected vehicle down for parts before more bandits cart off the empty shell. The next vehicle in line moves up to be repaired or broken down.

Not a single bandit is out of place, each of them moving with purpose.

All in all, it's somewhat impressive (and admittedly hypnotizing) to watch, even if the thought of having to infiltrate makes Lalna break out into a cold sweat, increasing the urge to run and hide.

"It's like they're preparing for war," Will Strife observes. "Back before I joined up with you three, I did hear rumors of the Blitzkrieg Blighters mobilizing for another campaign. Looks like those rumors are right."

"I wonder if they're the same bandits that Ravs pissed off," Nanosounds wonders out loud.

"Probably," Rythian calmly says before dryly adding, "He has pissed off quite a few gangs, you know."

"And we're supposed to go down there?" Lalna nervously asks.

"Yes, we are," Will confirms before cheerfully asking, "Anybody got any ideas on how to infiltrate that frigate?"

"Air vents," Lalna immediately volunteers as a joke. The others look expectantly at him. He realizes his mistake. "I'm joking," He quickly says.

"No, go on," Nanosounds encourages, raising a quizzical eyebrow at him.

"A ship that size has got to have ventilation systems, for obvious reasons," Will Strife observes. "So getting into the air vents sounds like a pretty good plan."

"We could move to the quiet end of the frigate and sneak into the vents from there. A frigate that size is hard to patrol at all hours," Rythian suggests. Nanosounds and Will Strife nod, appearing to approve of this plan. Lalna's heart sinks. He wishes he'd never opened his mouth.

Fifteen minutes later, they've made their way down the cliff towards the front end of the frigate. This side they're approaching from has considerably less bandits present but there are still bandits, nonetheless. They crouch behind rocks, watching the bandits attend to their tasks. 

"At least we don't have to disguise ourselves," Will mutters to nobody in particular.

"We could steal a nomad's coat, I could sit on Lalna's shoulders and we could just pretend to be a giant bandit?" Nanosounds whispers, giggling at the idea. 

"There is no way that could work," Lalna whispers, not at all thrilled at the idea she's suggesting (especially if he has to carry her on his shoulders).

"It worked for me," Will points out, "Sans one person."

"They're all going into the frigate," Rythian reports, having not taken his eyes off the bandits. "Midday siesta, I guess."

"Huh," Strife says. "How convenient."

"Now's our chance," Nanosounds says.

Before any of them can stop her, she steps out from the hiding place and makes a beeline across the open space towards the air vent. The other three scramble to follow after her, shooting wary glances out at the airlock that's long since slid shut.

Will Strife and Lalna fiddle with the air vent's screws using their tools. Together, they manage to quickly pry off the casing and gently lower it to the ground.

The air vent is about half of Nanosounds' height, so she and Lalna have no difficulty in crouching and crawling in. Rythian grumbles before he follows (something about being too tall for this bullshit and also something about more dust ruining his recently washed coat).

Before Will can slip into the vent himself, he hears footsteps crunching towards him.

Will Strife looks up at the sound, automatically picking up the casing. He slides it back into place. Lalna reaches out to hold the vent steady so that the casing doesn't fall. Will Strife straightens up and turns around to confront the source of the footsteps.

A Bruiser and a Nomad walk around the corner. They spot Will and pause in their conversation. Will prepares to drop his turret but the Nomad walks over, greeting him with mild surprise. "You're here early! We weren't expecting you for another day or so."

"What can I say, I'm, er, eager for work," Will says, coughing into one hand to disguise his nervousness. He throws an uneasy look at the frigate, careful not to look directly at the vent.

The other Vault Hunters are managing to keep quiet, waiting for the inevitable sound of gunfire and the alarm being raised. When nothing happens, they throw inquiring and confused looks at each other. Will hopes they stay hidden.

"Got lost outside, eh? We don't have really have a front door you can knock on," says the Nomad with a chuckle. "Come on, we'll escort you in." The two of them step closer so that Will is trapped between them and start walking. Will is forced to walk with them towards the airlock.

Will briefly wonders if this is going to be a common occurrence in his life, being mistaken for somebody he's not.

"Be good to get our finances done early this week," the Bruiser grunts, scratching their neck.

"Finances," Will says flatly, blinking. He refrains from asking 'bandits do finances?' out of fear of offending them. He's a businessman, not an accountant but clearly, he can be mistaken for the latter. He's not going to point this out to them though.

"Yeah, Daltos gets uppity if we don't provide him with a weekly summary of our finances," the Nomad explains, "He likes _math_." The bandit lets a shudder run through their frame.

They pause in front of the airlock, the Nomad pressing a button on the side of the frigate. The airlock hisses open, admitting them. Will Strife tries not to have a minor heart attack upon walking straight into a bandit-filled room once they walk through the airlock.

"This way," says the Bruiser, leading them down a corridor. None of the bandits pay Will much attention aside from the initial appraising glance.

Will dashes off a message to the other Vault Hunters under the pretense of checking his email, to which the Nomad gives an understanding nod.

"We'll get you a glass of water since you look a little unwell," the Nomad says. Will Strife refrains from pointing out that anybody would also be unwell if they're walking into the heart of bandit territory and they're not who the bandits think they are.

\--

"Will says he's playing accountant and not to worry about him, he's got it all under control," Lalna reports after reading Will's message.

They'd watched the two bandits march Will off with trepidation, equally torn between interfering and staying hidden. Nanosounds had almost kicked down the vent casing, spoiling for a fight. It'd taken both Lalna and Rythian to talk her out of it under the risk of raising the alarm and blowing Will's cover if she did so.

"We can't just leave him like that," Nanosounds hisses at Rythian and Lalna, throwing an accusing glance their way and continuing to sulk.

"We continue. If Strife says he'll be fine, he'll be fine," Rythian says. He doesn't like leaving Will like this but if they try to rescue him, their mission would probably go downhill very, very fast, as confident as he is in his ability to fight.

His brief observation of the frigate had brought up the issue of being outnumbered if it had to come to fighting their way out. It's not a prospect that Rythian is enthused about at all and would rather avoid.

"If he gets into trouble, I'm unleashing tentacle hell on this frigate," Nanosounds warns them.

"That won't happen," Rythian says firmly, also refusing to think about the consequences of her doing so. "Strife can handle himself."

She says nothing but instead, starts crawling through the vent on her hands and knees. Lalna and Rythian exchange brief worried looks with each other before Lalna follows her, Rythian bringing up the rear.

They crawl past vent after vent. Snatches of conversation float up into the vent they're crawling in. At one vent, Nanosounds pauses, causing Lalna to almost bump into her. Rythian doesn't bump into Lalna, using the time to move into a slightly larger vent and sit, cross-legged.

His back, elbows and knees are already aching. Rythian stretches out as best he can in such a cramped space. 

"We should get someone to check the vents. You never know if anybody or anything's crawling through them," One bandit idly comments. The sound of an ECHOnet show accompanies the comment.

"Nah, nobody's stupid enough to sneak into a frigate with more than a thousand bandits walking around," A different bandit points out with a laugh. Crude laughter from other bandits follow.

"All I'm saying is, somebody could be eavesdropping on us right this very moment," The same bandit from before stubbornly insists.

"Somebody humor the guy, I'm getting sick of hearing that paranoid shit again," grumbles another bandit.

"He's never happy, even if we do check the vents, the paranoid skaglicker..."

"You calling me paranoid?" Something is knocked over as the bandit stands.

"Yeah, I did, what are you gonna do? Make me eat my words?" The sounds of a scuffle break out as shouts of encouragement filter up into the vent.

The three of them continue crawling through the vents very quickly after that. The vents start sloping upwards before it eventually levels out. Rythian's already getting sick of vents at this point. He knows that he'll be feeling the soreness in his body for days with all the crawling he's doing.

Nanosounds is about to crawl past another vent that Lalna can't help but peer into (as he's done with practically every other vent on the way up to satisfy his curiosity, much to Rythian's annoyance).

He grabs onto Nanosounds' boot, stopping her from crawling any further. She turns her head to glare at him, yanking her boot out of his grip.

Lalna abruptly nods at the vent, mouthing 'Daltos'.

The three of them manage to crowd around the vent. Through the openings in the vent, they can make out several intimidating bandits plus a smaller figure. They're all standing around a table. The smaller figure is addressing them, the digistruct modules on their dark blue jacket clinking against one another as they point to the map spread out on the table before them.

It must be Daltos, because who else could it possibly be?

"You, hit up Sawtooth Cauldron and ask Mortar's lot to join us." The bandit he's addressing says something muffled under their helmet. Daltos briefly looks up at them before his gaze drifts back down to the map. "If they don't say 'yes', just shoot them all and come back with their Buzzard parts."

Daltos moves a marker on the map into place. "We need to conduct a skirmish on the Slabs, you're in charge of that," He orders, pointing at the bandit standing next to the one he'd previously addressed. They stand up straight, nodding their understanding.

"Got it," They say, swallowing. Daltos moves a different marker. It clacks on the map.

"And you, attack a Hyperion convoy and bring everything back. If I find out you've been stealing supplies like the last idiot, I'll personally string you up by your intestines while you're alive." This threat is in a matter-of-fact tone but it appears to hold weight with the bandits. They all shift uneasily on the spot.

"Wouldn't dream of it," nervously replies the bandit.

"Check if the Bloody Bandits are still at the dam. If they're still there, just report back. Do _not_ damage the dam or engage them. While you're in the area, give Ravs my fond regards. If you damage Sanctuary Hole as well, I'll break every bone in your body. Repeat that back at me." Daltos fiercely eyes the bandit opposite him.

"Check dam. Do not fight Bloody Bandits," The metal helmeted bandit slowly says. Daltos slowly nods, waiting expectantly. "Do not damage dam or Sanctuary Hole."

"Go on," Daltos says.

"And say hi to Ravs," intones the bandit, breathing out in relief when Daltos nods.

"Good job," He says with a touch of sarcasm but he seems pleased. "I don't know if the Crimson Raiders are still in operation at Frostburn Canyon, so send a couple of your lot over to investigate. Just report. We don't want to lose an _entire_ unit to those fucking traps again simply because you fuckers couldn't follow simple instructions for recon." This is primarily directed towards the last bandit in line.

"Understood," They simply say.

"You mooks got all that? It'd be a shame to lose such talented leaders if you can't follow such simple orders." Daltos straightens up, crossing his hands over his chest and giving them all a severe look.

The bandits all end up eagerly nodding and grunting their agreements. 

"War meeting over. You know what happens if you're late reporting back," Daltos calmly says. "Somebody also remind that accountant to come in tomorrow and not to be _late_."

They file out of the room, the large door eventually sliding shut with a hiss.

Daltos sweeps all the markers off the map and into a box with a gloved hand before rolling up the map and vanishing it into his inventory. The box is left on top of one of the consoles nearby. He stacks all the empty pizza boxes (with an annoyed scowl on his face) on one side of the table. 

He fishes around in his pockets, eventually pulling out a cigarette and a lighter.

As he lights up the cigarette and puts away the lighter, he restlessly paces the length of the room. Five minutes pass before he flicks a switch on the wall, opening up the vent the Vault Hunters are hiding in and standing directly below it.

Cigarette smoke drifts upwards to them. Daltos runs a tired hand through his black hair, revealing small streaks of grey in his hairline. It also reveals scarring (long since healed over) on his forehead above his left eyebrow. His expression remains tense even when the meeting's over.

Lalna and Nanosounds wildly gesture at Rythian towards Daltos. Rythian slowly shakes his head, watching Daltos, sketching out in his mind on how to best approach the situation. That is, until Nanosounds sneezes from the smoke tickling her nose.

"Bless you," Daltos automatically says, before realizing where the sneeze had come from. Daltos looks up at the vent, blinking. "The fuck?" He mutters, crushing the cigarette under his heel and moving to investigate.

Nanosounds explodes out of the vent and punches him in the face. The vent covering scatters down and away with a loud clang.

Unlike Zylus, Daltos has a shield equipped. Half of the charge drains under the impact of Nanosounds' fist meeting his face. He staggers back, wasting no time in pulling out an SMG and opening fire on her. Her shield cracks, spiderwebbing under the impacts. She also pulls out her own SMG and returns fire.

The slag-filled rounds paint the walls of the room purple as Daltos moves out of the way.

The two of them move around the table, reloading in between every round of gunfire. For every occasional hit her bullets land on him, a booster spawns; Daltos collects the boosters automatically, slowly replenishing his shield charge while Nanosounds has no such luxury. Her own shield charge is whittled down with every bout of gunfire it endures.

Nanosounds eventually kicks the table over (causing Daltos to dive out of the way as part of it flies in his direction). She ducks behind it for cover as her shield finally gives way, her expression one of deep concentration.

They can't leave her to fight him on her own; she's already being pinned down by more gunfire from Daltos, the table slowly splintering apart as her shield struggles under the continuing assault. Lalna desperately looks at Rythian for what to do.

Rythian mistakes it as a cue, teleporting Lalna down as backup.

Unfortunately, Daltos has moved right under the spot where Lalna's going to land. Lalna grabs both of Daltos' shoulders on the way down, causing Daltos' next round of gunfire to completely miss Nanosounds and hit the ceiling instead.

Nanosounds takes the chance to dart out and punch Daltos again.

The force of her punch causes Daltos to slam into the wall, crushing Lalna against it. Lalna yelps in pain, forced to let go of Daltos as he goes sliding down the wall. Nausea wells up at the back of his throat, both from the pain and Rythian's unexpected teleport.

Daltos moves so that the two of them are in his direct line of sight.

"Who the fuck are you two?" Daltos demands, looking from Nanosounds to Lalna. 

"We're Vault Hunters!" Nanosounds shouts. The cut on her cheek widens as she does so. Blood oozes from a large splinter partially embedded in her leg through her torn jeans. She ignores both signals of pain coming from her body in favor of glaring at Daltos.

"Vault Hunters?" Daltos scoffs. "All right, who sent you?" Nanosounds doesn't answer him, simply flipping him her middle finger in response. Daltos raises his gun to point it at Nanosounds and prepares to pull the trigger while her shield is still down.

Rythian teleports in front of Daltos, grabbing his gun and shoving it to the side so it fires upon the floor. Daltos snarls as Rythian drags him away from the other two, shoving him against the wall. 

Daltos viciously headbutts Rythian in the nose.

He ignores the blossoming pain, surprised by the sheer strength of Daltos' grip, only barely managing to keep Daltos from wrestling his gun free. The gun abruptly vanishes from Daltos' grip, surprising Rythian and leaving him with nothing but thin air to grasp.

At that moment, a tentacle slides up between them, startling them and causing them to spring apart. It swings and dents the wall. Rythian gets to his feet from having rolled out of the way, pulling out his shotgun and only barely managing to stop himself from shooting at the tentacle out of pure reflex. It fades back into its own dimension a second later.

He glares at Nanosounds instead of at the offending tentacle, now that it’s gone. Limping over so that she stands next to Rythian, she wordlessly points to Daltos' hand. 

Daltos has sprung back onto his feet, staring with disdain at the spot the tentacle had vanished. In his hand is a bladed pistol, the blade dripping thick purple blood from stabbing the tentacle instead of Rythian. 

"Thanks," Rythian gratefully says to her, feeling mildly humbled.

Daltos just grins and switches out the pistol for the SMG he'd used earlier. He points it at the only person in the room who hasn't drawn a gun: Lalna. Rythian and Nanosounds start but the two of them are too far away. With a pull of the SMG's trigger, Daltos unleashes a storm of bullets on Lalna.

The fingers of Lalna's metal hand won't bend properly to hold a gun ( _why now_ , of all times). Lalna does the other only thing he can do in the situation, knowing that his shield won't survive that long against that many bullets. He spawns Larry Robert directly in the path of those bullets, mentally apologizing to his Loader for doing so. 

Bullets ping off Larry Robert's frame, its shield holding strong. Daltos stops firing. Larry Robert turns to assess Daltos, its lone eye staring straight at him. It pulls out its two assault rifles, pointing them at Daltos. Lalna quickly tells Larry Robert to stand down, remembering that Zylus wants Daltos alive.

Daltos mistakes it as Larry Robert malfunctioning.

"Really, a fucking malfunctioning Loader armed with piss poor guns?" Daltos sneers. "You really expect to kill me with _that_?"

 _Nobody_ insults his Loader. Incensed, Lalna moves to draw a gun (his fingers finally working again). His hand jars abruptly, causing him to accidentally toss a grenade. He freezes, watching it fly through the air. The grenade flies in a slow arc over Larry Robert who smartly steps back out of the grenade's range.

Eyes widening, Daltos dives out of the way of the approaching grenade.

It bounces past him. He gets to his feet, turning to shoot a quizzical look at Lalna.

When the grenade appears to have bounced off somewhere else, Daltos starts laughing. The grenade rebounds off the wall (unseen by him since his back's turned on it). It brushes against Daltos' boot. The tesla grenade goes off, blue electricity coursing up around him and bringing him down to the ground.

Lalna doesn't feel like laughing at the sight.

Some small part of him urges him to do so, to relish the moment of schadenfreude but Lalna is horrified. He can't look away from the sight of Daltos being electrocuted, the sight now burned in his mind (the subject of many future nightmares to come).

When the grenade finally runs out of charge, Daltos is unmoving, sprawled on his side on the floor of the room. Daltos' shield sparks once before it goes dead.

His chest rises and falls, but unsteadily, the rhythm stuttering with every shallow breath. He's not in any fit state to move or fight. Still, Daltos struggles to get up. At some point, his SMG had vanished. He glares at Lalna, his teeth grit in pain. His gaze is filled with nothing but sheer rage.

If Lalna hadn't been on the receiving end of one of Rythian's similar glares, he would have flinched.

Instead, Lalna silently orders Larry Robert to pick him up. Larry Robert vanishes its assault rifles, clunking over and leaning down to lift Daltos. 

"Get the fuck away from me," Daltos weakly spits out. Larry Robert (as usual) is silent. Lalna's forgotten that the other two Vault Hunters are still in the room, mostly because they've been so quiet.

"That was amazing," Nanosounds says in an awed voice, holding a hand out to Lalna. He starts but relaxes immediately. He takes her hand, getting to his feet with her help.

"That was an accident," Lalna immediately confesses, a little of the numbness fading with her presence.

"Didn't look like it," Nanosounds says. "Don't worry," She dismissively adds, upon seeing his eyes land on the splinter in her leg and the cut on her face. He does offer her a rag, which she gratefully accepts and dabs at the cut on her face.

Not wanting to push the issue, he settles for watching Larry Robert boldly pick up Daltos, bridal-style. Daltos struggles but Larry Robert's grip tightens, causing him to sharply exhale in pain. 

"I got an idea," Lalna says, gesturing for Larry Robert to hold Daltos still. He fishes out the scrap of fabric Rythian had cut from his lab coat and uses it to tie Daltos' hands behind his back.

Daltos snarls out the filthiest string of curses (some of them from different languages) Lalna's ever heard in his entire life. He stops tying up Daltos' hands, his face and the tops of his ears reddening. He takes a wary step back, deeply shocked at such violent promises of retaliation.

Nanosounds punches Daltos in the face with all her might.

Daltos opens his mouth to curse at her as well but Nanosounds raises her fist as if to dare him to try that again. Scowling, he instead turns his head and spits out a bright red glob, blood trickling down his neck from the corner of his mouth. 

The glob hits the floor with a wet sound. Lalna sees a single tooth (a molar) in the glob. 

Rythian magically appears by his side to finish tying up Daltos for him, causing Lalna to jump once more.

"Where did you vanish to?" Lalna manages to ask, attempting to soothe his heart into sliding back down his throat back to where it belongs.

"Checking out the back room. I picked up some guns that I don't think they'll miss anytime soon," Rythian says, testing the knot he's tied by tugging hard on it a few times.

Spots of blood are drying on his purple scarf. He's since pulled the scarf down to his neck. Some blood is still running down past his mouth from his nose. Lalna looks at Rythian's hand and sees blood smeared across the back of it. 

Lalna would have offered Rythian a clean rag as well but the large door to the room whooshes open.

"Hey Daltos, we're ready to fucking rumble at Sawtooth Cauldron, we just need you to-" The lone bandit stops and stares.

Lalna refrains from giggling at the comical timing and the strangeness of the scene they've just walked in on. A room turned upside down with bullet holes everywhere plus three surprised Vault Hunters, a Loader (colored pink and green) carrying a tied up, pissed off Daltos must make a sight.

They forgot about silencing Daltos because he reacts first by shouting, "Don't just fucking stand there, sound the fucking alarm!"

Nanosounds and Rythian start shooting at the bandit. Their shots miss as the bandit turns on their heel and scrambles towards the door.

"There's a Siren in the base! Vault Hunters have got Daltos-" Rythian nails him in the back. The bandit goes down but not before more bandits start appearing, pulling out weapons and beginning to converge on their location. 

"You're never going to get out alive," Daltos says in a low voice. Nanosounds turns and draws a line across her throat. He falls silent.

Nanosounds switches out her gun for her rocket launcher, firing a rocket at the door.

It explodes upon impact, sending a fine green mist up into the air. The blast of the rocket sends bodies flying this way and that. Acid sizzles, causing extreme screams of pain from eating away at body parts belonging to those still alive and caught in the green mist.

Rythian gingerly steps over the charred and partially melted door once the mist has settled. He slams some of the unaffected bandits hiding around the corner up into the ceiling with a well-placed teleport. He executes them on the way down with a few blasts from his shotgun. The bodies fall with ugly crunching noises.

He gestures for them to join him in the hallway once it's clear.

"This way, I think," He says, turning left.

"How do you know?" Nanosounds asks him, reloading her rocket launcher.

"I took a look at the map of the frigate while you were tying up Daltos," Rythian says.

Lalna makes sure that Larry Robert has Daltos secure in its grip. Daltos looks at the bodies of his bandits with an unreadable expression. Shouts echo down the hallways. The three of them run down the hallways, following Rythian with Larry Robert bringing up the back with clunking footsteps.

"Where's Strife?" Nanosounds asks in a slightly pained voice with the effort of having to run with the splinter in her leg.

Rythian directs them into a side room. He and Lalna slam the door shut once they're all in. Footsteps stampede past the door thirty seconds later, accompanied by muffled shouting. 

Thankfully, Daltos remains silent, not giving their position away.

They're in one of the room that's obviously a bandit living quarter. Surprisingly, the room is neat and tidy. Nanosounds moves to sit on one of the tables, exhaling sharply as the splinter causes blood to bead around the wound as it's jostled lightly.

Rythian inspects the wound. He unravels the clean bandages from around one of his hands and arm.

Lalna can't help but take in the various scarring all along on his bare arm. Some of those looked downright nasty, like a large one that looked like it'd been a result of a skag going to town on the underside of his arm, while others seemed small (as if they hadn't healed properly) in comparison.

So Rythian had been dead serious about the hazards of Vault Hunting, after all. Well, Lalna had the sense that he's never been joking in the first place but the seriousness of his warnings are now beginning to make even more sense. Rythian hasn't even noticed his staring in favor of looking straight at Nanosounds.

"This is going to hurt," He bluntly informs Nanosounds. She nods, knowing what he's going to do next.

"Do it, I'm ready," She says, squeezing her eyes shut and bracing herself.

Rythian takes hold of the splinter. He yanks it out in a single move. She gasps in pain, her hands clapping around the wound. Rythian tosses the splinter away, gently pushing her hands aside and moving to roll the bandages around her leg. He finishes tying a knot and steps back. 

Nanosounds gets down from the table, testing her leg. "Better," She says, smiling at Rythian. He just looks awkward for a single moment (like he's unused to praise or anything of the sort) before looking serious once more.

"We need to get out of here. Where's Strife?" Rythian asks.

Somebody bangs on the door. 

"Hey! Open up!" It sounds like Will Strife. Lalna opens the door with a grin. He closes it when Strife enters.

"Lalna sent me your location while you were playing doctor," Will says in lieu of a proper explanation. "Things have certainly been shaken up around here," He adds, giving a nervous chuckle after. He's carrying a silver briefcase that's stuffed to the brim. The clue to its contents are the corners of dollar notes hanging out of it.

"What is that?" Nanosounds asks. Will holds it up, raising an eyebrow.

"What is this, you ask? It's a million dollars pilfered from the Blitzkrieg Blighters, courtesy of the bandits mistakenly letting me into their vault since they seemed to think 'money inspection and verification' is a real thing," Will says, properly laughing this time. 

It coaxes a smile from the other Vault Hunters. He despawns the case into his inventory. Daltos struggles from where he's being held captive by Larry Robert. 

"Fuck you-" He starts, but Nanosounds brandishes a heavy fist at him. He settles instead for glaring at Will Strife. Will Strife raises an eyebrow again.

"Nice to meet you too, Daltos."

"He knows better than to be potty-mouthed around me," Nanosounds explains.

"I like the way you use negative reinforcement," Will casually observes.

"Thank you, I try," She cheerfully replies, beaming at Will Strife and clearly relishing the hate filled look Daltos sends her way.

When they hear silence behind the door to the room, Rythian opens it. The coast is clear, so they all cautiously leave the room. Nanosounds and Will Strife take up the front, while Rythian, Lalna and Larry Robert (plus one Daltos) bring up the rear.

With the help of the sparse lightly graffitied maps of the frigate on the wall and what Rythian can remember, they make their way through the ship towards one of the 'exits', methodically eliminating each search party they come across.

Right when they reach said 'exit', they're discovered by one of the bigger search parties appearing at the other end of the hallway. 

"Okay, so we're definitely not leaving that way," Strife mutters out loud. 

"Yeah, I don't have enough bullets for this," Nanosounds laments. 

"Get them!" One of the bandit leaders (with a metal helmet) bellows as gunfire rains down on them. Lalna orders Larry Robert to turn around so that they see Daltos. The gunfire immediately ceases.

"That's low, using him as a hostage!" One of the lower ranking bandit protests.

"All's fair in war!" Will Strife calls out.

"That's not how the saying goes!" Another bandit yells as Will Strife tosses down his turret so that it blocks the hallway, buying them more time.

Some of the turret rounds destroys the straps holding down the bandit leader's helmet.

Much to Rythian's horror (him being the only one knowing what's truly underneath that helmet), the bandit leader pulls off their helmet to reveal a peeling human skull held up by a fleshy spine with sickly red, muscular tendrils clinging to it that lead back around to the spine.

They drop the helmet onto the hallway's floor with an echoing clang before roaring.

Lalna and Will Strife scream. Nanosounds reacts by throwing her hands over her mouth, her tattoos flickering, sending a dark purple wave of blight towards the bandits that clings to all the surfaces it touches.

One bandit experimentally toes it with a foot, starting to flail as it spreads up their leg, eating away at the skin through sneaking through the ripped fabric of their jeans.

Rythian just yells, "Get in the airlock!", snapping the others out of their horrified stupor.

Lalna tosses his final tesla grenade, unable to watch where it lands in the mob, turning to direct Larry Robert into the airlock and following Rythian and the others into the airlock.

The bandit leader charges straight through the blight, their armor impervious to the taint of it, their skull clacking with every step. Rythian slams the button to close the airlock. The door slides shut, just in time. The goliath's fists hammers away at the door, denting it heavily in places.

The airlock door consists of thick layers of blastproof metal but even Rythian's not sure how long it'll hold out against the bandit leader's punches.

The four of them start piling crates and items against the door as an extra measure. They leave the airlock alone after, throwing uncertain and wary glances at it, the sounds of the bandits attempting to break in echoing around the small room. 

Daltos strains against the fabric keeping his wrists behind his back and Larry Robert's hold but Larry Robert continues to hold him captive. 

They step out onto the platform, anticipating solid ground but stop. They're on the roof of the frigate, standing on one of the platforms with Buzzards parked on both sides in neat rows. They back into the airlock room.

Lalna flops down onto one of the crates, finally able to move the fingers of his metal hand without it stalling. At this point, he suspects the problem lies deeper: one of the internal mechanisms must be fried and needs replacing but he doesn't have the tools for it. He hands all of his ammo to the others, seeing no point in hoarding it when he can't shoot.

They thank him and start reloading their own guns, having almost expanded all of it in keeping the bandits off their backs.

He could always use his other hand to fire the gun but his aim is likely to hit one of the other Vault Hunters if he's not careful.

Rythian checks Nanosounds' bandage tied around her leg. Satisfied that it's still holding, he starts tending to his own wound. It's the one that Daltos had given him. Lalna hands him a clean rag. Rythian wipes away the dried blood as best as he can. Luckily, his nose isn't broken but it still hurts.

His coat is torn from when a bandit had swung at him with an axe (he'd stolen it from them after they'd missed and left it buried in their head). Rythian also takes the opportunity to eat some skag jerky and gulp down water, feeling as if it's the only chance he'll get to eat and drink.

He doles out the food, the others taking it without complaint. Lalna chews on it, pretending it's some other, more appetizing meat.

Strife has a few cuts and bruises from the run in with one of the search parties that had quickly turned into an up and close encounter. He expertly tends to himself, grumbling about the damage to his wardrobe.

He digistructs the silver case, popping it open and dividing up the money. They stash it away in their pockets, the money somewhat lightening the heavy atmosphere. The empty case goes on top of all the other items blocking the door.

Lalna's got no major wounds, having been fortunate enough to escape with the same wounds as Strife.

Daltos silently watches them all with smoldering hate and rage in his expression and eyes.

It's only now that Lalna realizes that he'd very likely killed some members Sheriff's Posse (back at Lynchwood) in tossing back the tesla grenade. It'd been different at Lynchwood; they'd badly needed Rythian back and the location to the power core, so the posse's deaths hadn't been simply pointless murder.

If he had to take it one step further, he could try to rationalize it as their deaths serving a greater purpose. The money and eridium bars sitting in his inventory feel unclean all of the sudden. Lalna knows that he'll never be able to rid the taint of death clinging to them and him, no matter how hard he tries.

Despite feeling uneasy about murder, he's also just participated in killing countless bandits back there.

He clearly remembers how Daltos' face had looked when Rythian had shot that bandit in the back when they'd turned to get help. Lalna tries not to think about how the bandit might have died, thinking of failing Daltos. That bandit hadn't done anything wrong: they'd only reacted as any other person would have, in that situation.

A small voice at the back of his mind states it's his fault for suggesting they use the air vents, even though it'd been a joke. They could have avoided this if they'd found another way in and out. Lalna rests his head in his hands, sick to his stomach. He slaps the small voice at the back of his mind down. 

The bandits had been shooting at them so technically, it'd been self-defense. They hadn't seemed inclined to stop shooting even if they'd seen him unarmed. In fact, they'd seemed to shoot even more in his direction. It still doesn't change the fact that with every waking moment that he's on Pandora, the body count under his name is starting to rise.

Lalna swallows back the sudden, irrational impulse to set Daltos free.

All he has to do is order Larry Robet to rip the cloth binding Daltos' hands behind his back and to put Daltos down. He remembers what Daltos had sworn, though. That's enough to give Lalna pause in releasing him. Daltos doesn't seem likely to spare Lalna for letting him go, especially after the fact that they'd _kidnapped_ him.

Especially since it's Lalna who'd defeated him in the first place. Lalna glances at the other Vault Hunters. He is not going to release Daltos just to satisfy his selfish desires to reconcile his guilt for murdering bandits and whatever other issues he has with being on Pandora.

He forces himself to think of something else before the impulse becomes too powerful to ignore.

Like how to escape, for starters. 

"You could make it easy. Just walk off the edge. The fall won't kill you, but my bandits will," says Daltos, breaking into Lalna's thoughts. He's been watching the variety of expressions that flicker across Lalna's face with mild interest.

Lalna stares at him until what Daltos is suggesting fully sinks into his mind. "I'm not walking off that platform to my death!"

"I was hoping you would, because that would make my life a lot easier and so you don't have to watch me murder the ever-loving shit out of your friends," Daltos coolly says, giving a dramatic, disappointed sigh after.

"No," Lalna says, getting off the crate and quickly moving out of range of Daltos and out onto the platform.

The insistent banging on the airlock door continues. He walks over to the nearest Buzzard. An idea starts to form in his mind. Carefully, on the verge of a gigantic revelation, scared that it'll fall apart if he forces it to come together, Lalna slowly gathers all the pieces until it's complete.

"Why are you looking at the Buzzards?" Nanosounds limps on over to him, watching him climb into the driver's seat and poking at the controls.

"We'll fly the Buzzards out of here," Lalna explains. Nanosounds stares at him before her face breaks out into a wide grin.

"Hey! Lalna says we'll fly the Buzzards out of here!" She shouts, getting Will and Rythian's attention. The two walk on over. 

"That's entirely possible," Will muses, "Can't be that hard to fly a Buzzard."

"It's worth a shot," Rythian says. "We don't have any other options, after all."

"What about Larry Robert? We can't simply put Daltos on the side of the Buzzard or let him fly one, he'll escape," Nanosounds points outs.

"Oh, don't worry about Larry Robert. Larry Robert can fly." Lalna gestures to Larry Robert, flames spouting from both of Larry Robert's legs and causing it to float in mid-air, startling Daltos. Larry Robert drops back onto the platform with a clang of metal and creaking joints.

Daltos glares at Lalna.

There's more than enough Buzzards for each of them as they climb in and strap themselves in. Lalna finds the clearly marked 'ON' switch and flips it. The engines behind him whine and rumble, the blades above his head beginning to whir as they start to spin. The frame of the Buzzard vibrates wildly as the vehicle starts up, causing Lalna's heart to race. 

He experimentally takes his Buzzard straight up into the air, causing it to rock wildly from side to side.

The others manage to take off as well with their Buzzards, right as the crates blocking the door explode under the force of two Goliaths' punches. The bandit leader has their helmet crammed back on their head; they push past the two Goliaths onto the platform. Bandits follow him onto the platform, starting to shoot at them. 

Lalna steers his Buzzard higher into the air, managing to dodge the shots in time.

Larry Robert follows him, still carrying Daltos, who yells something that's lost to the wind. He elbows Larry Robert (who takes the hit without budging). Lalna has half a mind to tell him to stop struggling. There's a giant drop below but it appears Daltos doesn't appear to care one bit in his attempt to get free.

He stops struggling, appearing to have exhausted himself or having realized the futility in doing so.

The steady rattling sound of machine gun attached to Will's Buzzard adds to the noise, the rounds scarring the platform, also ripping through bodies with ease. Will's Buzzard smoothly strafes in the air to avoid the gunfire directed towards him. With a free hand, Will tosses his turret down onto the platform.

Half of the bandits turn to confront the turret. The other half continues shooting at the Buzzards.

"Not again!" One of them whines.

Nanosounds flies past in her own Buzzard, directing it over the platform. Somehow, she's found the button to carpet bomb the platform, destroying the other Buzzards and preventing an aerial pursuit. She lets out a joyful laugh as she swings back around, her Buzzard's machine gun opening fire on the bandits as well.

A map marker pops up in Lalna's HUD, courtesy of Rythian.

Rythian pulls away from them, heading off in the direction of T-Bone Junction. The other Vault Hunters follow suit (Will despawning his turret before leaving), the frigate and bandits beneath them rapidly disappearing from view. The four (technically six, including Larry Robert and an unwilling Daltos) start the long flight towards Zylus.

The sun is beginning to set when they're in view of T-Bone Junction (the town so very small from this height). Rythian ECHOs Zylus. A crackle, followed by a burst of static sounds before Zylus pops up on the ECHO feed.

"Rythian?" He sounds groggy as if having just woken up. "You're back already?"

"We have Daltos! We need you to disable your turrets and everything else, we're in Buzzards!"

Zylus stops sounding groggy and instead, alarmed. "Oh shit, don't come any closer, I can't disable them that fast-" Zylus' words are lost as gunfire shreds the underside of Rythian's Buzzard.

With a heavy hand, Rythian directs his Buzzard upward but it's too late.

He can already hear the rattling death of the Buzzard's engine and smell the acrid smoke without having to turn around in his seat to see it. The warning light for engine failure on the dashboard flashes red. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies rockets and gunfire hit the other Buzzards despite their attempts to dodge.

One by one, the other Vault Hunters drop out of the call.

Rythian's Buzzard is already losing height, fast. He directs his Buzzard towards the desert, hoping that the sand will cushion his fall, bracing himself for the crash landing. He also hopes that the other Vault Hunters will survive their own landings. 

\--

Lalna lands his Buzzard onto one of the platforms of T-Bone Junction, having hung back far enough (almost out of range) to see the others get shot down.

He'd screamed their names as the ECHO call had cut out. His Buzzard's not that badly damaged but it's starting to struggle to stay in the air. When his Buzzard clumsily lands, he quickly undoes the straps to his seat and jumps out. 

Larry Robert (bearing a shivering Daltos) lands next to him. Zylus runs over, spotting Daltos (the two of staring at each other for a long, tense moment). Lalna refrains from screaming at Zylus for not being fast enough to disable his security systems and instead, brings up his map to see where the others had crashed.

Will Strife and Nanosounds have crashed close by. Rythian's fallen further away. Lalna misses Zylus dragging a resisting Daltos from Larry Robert's hands and hauling him off into a building. When Lalna closes his map, Zylus has digistructed two vehicles and is beckoning him to get into one of them. 

He obeys, not knowing what else to do and feeling numb once again. Larry Robert despawns as Lalna drives after Zylus out onto the highway in search of the other Vault Hunters, dreading the worst.

\--

Rythian finally comes to, a giant shadow being cast over him. His world first comes up fuzzy before his eyes succeed in refocusing. Through the cloud of initial pain that fades, Rythian reaches out with his consciousness. His self-assessment mostly comes up clean.

The only wound he has is on his unbandaged arm from where a bit of metal's cut him. The cut is shallow and only looks bad. It's nothing he can't handle. To his immense relief, his blood is still bright red (as it should be).

With that matter settled, Rythian reaches up over his shoulder despite the hot throbbing of his arm to disengage the straps to the seat. It refuses to budge, no matter how hard he pulls on the release mechanism. He digistructs his knife, using the sharp, glowing blue edge to easily slice through the straps and free himself. 

"Seat belt safety for the win," He mutters under his breath, putting the knife away. A final, reassuring check that the trinket is on its cord around its neck and that he has both his digistruct modules on his person satisfies him before he moves to leave.

He carefully extracts himself from the seat, awkwardly slipping out of the crumpled cockpit and frame of the Buzzard. Nothing in his body is broken, but his whole body aches steadily all over, as if remembering the vent crawling and the impact of the Buzzard both at once. He lands in the sand, which comes up his ankles, lightly stirring with his movement.

When he looks out over the desert, Pandora's long sunset is still continuing.

That tells him he hasn't been knocked out for that long if nighttime hasn't occurred yet. Rythian looks up, wondering what the shadow being cast over him is, especially if he's out in the middle of the desert, so nothing should be casting that shadow. He freezes, exhaling sharply as fear momentarily spikes in his chest.

A Drifter is examining the wreckage of his Buzzard.

It towers over him, blocking the sun out with its tiny body, its four long thin legs holding it upright on the sands. Rythian forces himself to remain calm and make no sudden movements. He tries to remember what Zoeya had told him about how to deal non-violently with a Drifter. 

No sudden movements is definitely part of that.

The two smaller appendages serving as mandibles near the front of the Drifter's body twitch, moving back and forth as if the Drifter is trying to decide whether or not to stab him. Rythian's seen those two appendages stab straight through a technical (and a bandit) before flinging both aside with no problem.

His bleeding arm protests with the effort of remaining still.

Rythian considers the chances of successfully shooting the Drifter. Even if his arm is hurting, he's sure that he can still shoot, provided he aims carefully. Right when he's about to draw his pistol and seal his fate, he pauses, hearing several piercing, whistling noises that sound a lot like rockets headed straight towards him.

Somebody (who sounds a lot like Will Strife) shouts, "Get down!"

Rythian dives into the sand, protectively covering his head with his arms as three missiles explode against the Drifter's body. The impact explodes some of the yellow pustules on its body. The Drifter reels back, its four legs digging further into the sand.

It lets out an indignant screech of pain and marches off in the direction of the new threat, forgetting about him.

With his heart hammering in his chest, Rythian gets to his feet. He watches a Monster vehicle (with Nanosounds driving and Will manning the missile launcher) distract the Drifter. The three disappear over a dune.

The sound of a second vehicle pulling up and stopping nearby draws Rythian's attention. Rythian pulls out his pistol out on the footsteps that approach him. 

It's Zylus. He stops a short distance away from Rythian. Zylus holds both hands up when he sees Rythian is pointing a pistol at him.

"I'm so sorry," is the first thing out of his mouth.

In the setting sun's light, Rythian can see the profound guilt written all over Zylus' face. Even if Zylus had sent them on a near-suicidal mission and as badly as Rythian wants to shoot him for almost killing him and the other Vault Hunters, Rythian forces himself to lower his gun, slowly breathing out.

"Well, at least your defense systems work just fine," Rythian says with a touch of sarcasm, despawning his gun.

"Come on, I'll treat you back at T-Bone," says Zylus. Rythian follows Zylus back to the technical. Lalna jumps down from the turret of the technical, rushing over to him.

"Rythian!" Lalna calls out, coming to a stop and scattering sand. His eyes are drawn to the blood on Rythian's arm. 

"Just a scratch," Rythian informs him, flooded with relief that Lalna's fine. And to an extent, upon seeing the other two Vault Hunters if they're well enough to be driving and picking fights with a Drifter.

"Rythian, that is not a scratch," Lalna says, looking and sounding annoyed with his lack of concern. 

"To me, it is. We'll worry about it when we get back," Rythian replies as he gets into the back of the technical.

Lalna pauses, looking like he's wrestling with himself over whether to push the issue or back off. He backs off, climbing back into the turret. Zylus starts the technical, taking them over the sands towards T-Bone Junction.

The journey back is silent.

\--

"Where's Daltos?" Rythian asks as Zylus leads him into the building he'd served them tea in. Zylus jerks a thumb over his shoulder as he rummages around in his storage units for a first aid kit.

It's only then that Rythian spies Daltos, who is handcuffed to a radiator by one of his hands. Rythian manages to stop himself from doing a double-take.

Daltos is propping himself up on the wall next to the radiator. He looks bored and his digistruct modules are missing from his jacket. Several large bruises mar one side of his face (likely from Nanosounds' earlier punches). He flips Rythian the bird upon seeing Rythian staring at him. Rythian chooses not to react, knowing that reacting will only encourage him.

Rythian sits in one of the chairs while waiting for Zylus.

Zylus brings over a new roll of bandages, medical gel, a bowl of water and a wet rag. Before he comes over to Rythian, Zylus leaves a bottle of water just slightly out of Daltos' reach. 

Daltos snorts. "Get fucked," He deadpans.

"Are you offering?" Zylus easily replies, not batting an eyelid like he's completely used to Daltos. There's a pregnant pause.

"I wouldn't fuck you even if you were the last person on this fucking planet," Daltos finally retorts, reaching for the water bottle with his uncuffed hand. 

Right when it seems like he's about to succeed, Zylus walks back over, picking up the bottle and moving it back slightly further. Daltos snarls in frustration and lashes out with a vicious kick, aiming to catch Zylus on the shin. Zylus simply steps back out of range. He's grinning, almost relishing Daltos' frustration.

Rythian watches with mild amusement. He can't quite put his finger on their interaction. Besides, it's none of his business (even if he feels like he's dooming Daltos by leaving him here with Zylus).

Zylus sits down in the chair across from him. Rythian holds out his arm and Zylus gently dabs away at the drying blood. Some of the water slips inside the cut, causing Rythian to wince but he continues to let him clean up the wound, not resisting. The other three Vault Hunters walk in when Rythian takes over bandaging up his arm.

Rythian turns his head to take in their states.

Will Strife is holding one of his arms like it's deeply wounded. Rythian sees that his sleeve is badly torn near his wrist, spying bandages wrapped around it underneath. Will smooths over the tear with his other hand and straightens up when he sees Rythian looking.

"Just a sprain," Will quickly says. "Happened when I went down in the desert." Rythian chooses to say nothing, flexing his fingers, checking that the bandages aren't tied too tightly around his fingers and palm. The medical gel holds firm.

Nanosounds is exchanging the bandage around her leg for a new roll with Zylus' help. She only has bruises on her arms and her head. Zylus gently applies a patch to protect the dried up cut on her face. A moment later, Zylus leaves the room and comes back with two bags of ice, tossing one to Strife. The other is handed to Nanosounds. She holds it against her head, sighing in relief.

The two of them thank him. He starts tending to Will despite Will insisting that he's fine.

Lalna hovers anxiously in the doorway, looking unsure in how he can help. He stays well away from Daltos, almost hiding from him.

"Lalna, give me a hand with this," Rythian says. Lalna starts but comes closer. 

"Oh! Er, sure." Lalna picks up the end of the bandage and starts wrapping it around Rythian's arm, an expression of mild concentration appearing on his face. There's a slight tremor to Lalna's metal hand, especially noticeable whenever he moves his metal fingers.

"Is your hand okay?" Rythian decides to ask.

"Oh, it's fine. I mean, well, it's not fine right now. But it will be, once I take a look at it!" Lalna sounds like he's forcing himself to be cheerful. "Just got to make time for it."

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No, I'm fine. After you three went down, it was just me," Lalna says in a low voice. "I delivered Daltos to Zylus and then we went to look for you three."

"I see." Satisfied with this explanation and unsure about what else he can ask, Rythian falls silent.

"Whatever happened to the Drifter?" Lalna says to Nanosounds and Will Strife as if he finally remembers the incident.

"Killed it," Nanosounds brightly replies.

"It wasn't too hard using the Monster. Bit hard with my wrist, but we managed just fine," Will says.

"Feel free to take a copy of the blueprint of the Monster with you," Zylus interjects, completing his inspection of Will's wrist and deemed it fine for the time being after giving Will advice on how to deal with a sprained wrist.

"Definitely," Lalna says, perking up. He runs outside to the Catch-A-Ride Station to download it once he's finished attending to Rythian. He comes back, looking pleased with his newest acquisition.

"So, are you going to tell us why you wanted Daltos?" Rythian asks Zylus. Daltos looks between Zylus and Rythian, a sour look on his face.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of him," Zylus says with a pleased chuckle. "Here's the power core, as promised." He reaches into his inventory and digistructs the power core. He tosses it to Rythian, who catches it and carefully stores it in his own inventory. "It's fully charged up. If you ever need another one, just let me know."

"You haven't answered Rythian's question," Nanosounds points out. 

"I didn't?" Zylus tilts his head, a thoughtful look on his face. "He and I have a lot of talking to do, that's all. I should feed you lot, chances are you're probably hungry." He gets up from his chair and vanishes into the kitchen, leaving them alone with Daltos. 

"So, what's the story between you and him?" Strife fearlessly directs his question right at Daltos. Daltos shrugs as best as he can when one of his hands is handcuffed to the radiator.

"You're a moron if you haven't figured it out at this point," Daltos says in a smug voice. "It's not hard. Even some of my smartest bandits would have figured it out by now."

Rythian refrains from saying exactly what he suspects, if only to watch in amusement at the look of concentration that appear on the other Vault Hunter's faces. In the long stretch of silence that follows, the other Vault Hunters shake their heads. Rythian joins in to disguise his own understanding and not encourage prying into Zylus' private matters.

There is something that he remembers though, back when he, Ravs and Teep had first met Zylus.

They'd found him wandering the area in a daze, delirious and weakened from dehydration and starvation, his track of time so out of sync with theirs.

He'd mistaken Rythian and Ravs for bandits and vehemently refused their help and to talk to them. Frustrated, they'd been about to leave Zylus when Teep had walked over to Zylus and shown him something that'd cemented Zylus' trust in them.

Rythian and Ravs had stared as Teep had tucked the heavily scratched (to the point where only the Dahl logo is visible) dog tags back under their jacket, Teep not bothering to explain.

It'd taken weeks before Zylus would even begin talking to Rythian outside of necessary interactions. It'd taken even longer for Zylus to begin trusting and talking to Ravs without being downright rude (thankfully, Ravs hadn't taken it personally). There'd been something deliciously ironic about a mute person serving as their go-to for contact with Zylus. 

Slowly, they'd pieced together what'd happened to him, based on the bits and pieces he'd managed to dredge up from his memory. Once Zylus had trusted them enough, he'd finally explained the reason for his nonstop wandering from location to location.

It'd been like he'd deathly feared they'd backstab him by giving away his location to Daltos.

In their first meeting, Zylus' right eye socket had been completely empty, the final signs of infection beginning to heal up and his unwavering dislike of bandits, even after he'd befriended Ravs.

There's Daltos' strict ruling of the bandits and his attempts to fix the Dahl frigate. The way his gaze (almost regretful, tinged with guilt) lingers on Zylus' missing eye whenever Zylus is in the room. His gaze hardens though, whenever he catches someone looking at him when he's looking at Zylus.

Daltos is right in that it's not hard to guess what had gone down between them.

Zylus comes back into the room with a tray full of plates laden with steaming food. It's only now that Lalna feels his hunger rearing its head at the smell, his mouth beginning to water. He gratefully accepts the plate and fork. Using the tines of his fork, he suspiciously pokes at the chunks of food on the plate.

"What's this?" Lalna asks, the other Vault Hunters beginning to dig into their own meals without a second's hesitation. Will and Nanosounds offer profuse thanks. Rythian just nods.

"Skag meat with gravy, vegetables and rice," Zylus informs him, leaving the room once again. He seems unusually pleased by the Vault Hunters enjoying their meal.

Lalna can't even bring himself to be disgusted this time. He simply digs into his plate, his hunger preventing him from turning his nose up at a free meal. The gravy and rice are masking the usual taste of skag meat.

Zylus hands a plate and fork to Daltos. Daltos blinks in surprise. Scowling, he accepts it, balancing it on his lap and choosing to eat. Zylus eats while standing close by him. Every now and then, he calmly surveys Daltos. Daltos, for the most part, deliberately ignores him.

Lalna wishes he had bread so he can mop up the gravy. He places his fork atop his plate and places it on the table, feeling full and content. With a lack of something to do, he can't help but catch sight of Rythian eating.

Since when has Rythian chosen to eat and drink in front of them without normally eating his meals alone or out of their sight? He really can't remember, failing to recall a specific moment when Rythian had started to do so.

Daltos is staring at Rythian but when he catches Zylus' eye, Daltos awkwardly shifts his attention back to his plate.

The other Vault Hunters finally stack their plates, a tidy pile of forks heaped on the topmost plate.

"That was good," happily sighs Nanosounds.

"Drop by again anytime, I'm more than happy to whip up something for you," Zylus says. "I'll also take you to the moon and back in my spaceship, free of charge."

"I remember now!" Strife snaps his fingers and points at Zylus. "You were the pilot of that shuttle who took me from Concordia on Elpis to here!"

"No wonder why you seemed familiar! I couldn't place it either," Zylus says, chuckling. "You got a good left hook, I'll give you that."

"So I've been told," Strife says, looking at Rythian. Rythian coughs and looks away.

"So, how are Ravs and Teep?" Zylus asks.

"You should come visit Sanctuary Hole sometime, they'll be glad to see you. Or Ravs will, at least." Rythian sends Zylus the Fast Travel code to Sanctuary Hole. 

"Maybe I will. Daltos will be glad to see Ravs too," Zylus says. Daltos gives a slow, denying shake of his head and throws an accusing look at the Vault Hunters. Nanosounds responds by sticking her tongue out at him.

"We should head back. That power core isn't going to deliver itself." Rythian gets up from his chair. "Thanks for the hospitality. Will you be okay?"

Zylus makes an amused sound. "I'll be fine."

"If you need anything, just ECHO us."

"I will," Zylus swears. He escorts them to the Catch-A-Ride Station so that they can digistruct their ride. It's still evening but T-Bone Junction and the highway are well lit.

Lalna reaches out and tugs Zylus on the sleeve, causing him to fall behind with Lalna, his walk slowing. The other Vault Hunters walk on ahead. They're beginning to play a game of rock, paper, scissors to decide driving shifts and who gets to ride shotgun.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Lalna whispers to him.

"Sure, what can I do for you?" Zylus asks, peering at him with mild curiosity. 

"There's a place between the moon and Pandora I need to go to. It's a mining rig. Can your shuttle take me there?" Lalna quickly asks, feeling like he's further intruding on Zylus' hospitality, even if Zylus had offered in the first place.

"It's a spaceship, not a shuttle," Zylus corrects, but continues, "I'm making a scheduled trip up to Elpis in a few days time. You can tag along. Consider it as a favor for sending you lot on a suicidal mission and for my systems shooting you down." He rubs the back of his neck with a hand, clearly embarrassed.

"Thanks," Lalna says, letting out a sigh of relief. "Um, don't worry about shooting us down, that was an accident and it seems like the others have forgiven you?" Zylus doesn't answer but he stops looking embarrassed.

Zylus proceeds to send him the Fast Travel code for T-Bone Junction, noting that he's added Lalna to the whitelist for the Fast Travel Network. Lalna's heart sinks at having to use the Fast Travel Station for this but it's a risk he's willing to take, if only to find out what's going on up at the mining rig.

The laser that had fired on the Badass Crater of Badassitude belongs to the mining rig he'd had a hand in putting together. Either somebody's hijacked it or his employer's completely gone off the deep end to be using the laser outside of its intended purpose.

It's not a weapon and Lalna doesn't like that it's being used in a manner that implicates it as such. 

"Do the others know you're going?" Zylus nods his head in the direction of the other Vault Hunters. 

"They will, once I explain," Lalna says. He's not going to lie about where he's going. He just hopes that the others won't draw any unfortunate conclusions. He's also not lying in that he genuinely doesn't know why the laser's firing of its own accord or outside of the set location.

"See you in a few days then," Zylus says. "Have a safe trip back to Sanctuary Hole." 

Lalna nods and hurries to join the others (who are waiting patiently for him). He ignores the feeling that he’s being watched by someone other than Zylus. He’s had that feeling since he first set foot in T-Bone Junction, but he puts that down to the cameras Zylus has placed around the town for security. 

With his uninjured hand, Will pulls him up into the back of the technical. Lalna settles next to him. They wave at Zylus as Nanosounds drives them past him. Zylus waves back as they take the highway, setting a course for Sanctuary Hole. He stops waving once the technical becomes a tiny dot on the highway and yawns, walking back into the building and closing the door after him.

On the road back to Sanctuary Hole, Rythian checks his ECHO and sees a few missed calls from Ravs, all of them around the time he'd crashed the Buzzard. He swears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~18, 800 words in total for this chapter. i'd like to dedicate this chapter to teagstime for taking the time and effort to help edit this monstrosity, SO THANK YOU AGAIN. 
> 
> rip cowboy hat, you will be missed (pun not intended). 
> 
> the lalnable hector 'beyond the borderlands' fic happens between this chapter and the next. if you haven't read that yet, check that out over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/beyond-the-borderlands%3A-i.o.u.%3A-one-new-arm) or [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4427657)! NOW I CAN ACTUALLY WORK IN LALNABLE FOR REAL into the main storyline 8)
> 
> rythian's finally chosen to eat and drink in front of the other vault hunters. the reason why he usually doesn't is because most people tend to stare at his teeth whenever he pulls his scarf down. since the vault hunters didn't react like that back in the lynchwood chapter and it's inevitable that they'll see him without his scarf eventually, rythian's just chosen to prematurely accept his fate. lalna's just not very good at noticing these things early on, heh.
> 
> have you ever seen a goliath without its helmet on? no? check out [this concept art](http://www.videogamesartwork.com/games/borderlands-2/goliath-sketches-1) (warning for body horror). 
> 
> zylus is actually really good at hosting guests. this partially stems from his deep loneliness in that he's genuinely happy to have guests over. even if he sends them on a suicidal mission and almost kills them in failing to disable his security system in time. the other reason is that he's trying to remember how to interact with people, given his remote location and his set-up in that he can't easily receive people as he used to.
> 
> xephos and honeydew were among the last few people who passed through t-bone junction while it was still operating as a regular town and not as it currently is. for those of you who've played borderlands 2 and reached overlook, angel is the one who cut off t-bone junction's medical supplies in one of her quotes. so she's responsible for t-bone junction's population kicking the bucket. ENJOY THAT BIT OF TRIVIA. and that kids, is also the reason you get vaccinated!
> 
> daltos runs a tight ship. a financially tight ship. i've been wanting to make that joke for the entire chapter. yes, this entire chapter has been one elaborate set-up for that joke. ha ha ha.
> 
> he is actually much more chill when he's not under that much stress. if you haven't guessed, he actually let his second in commands bring pizza into the war room. he also used to laugh a lot more and also didn't smoke. that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy what he currently has but life could be better, you know?
> 
> zylus and daltos' appearances is one of the things i looked forward to writing for this au. while they don't interact much in this chapter, their relationship almost mirrors what happens in blackrock. just take out the pool and replace it with a dahl frigate. and add in a borderlands twist on their relationship. the full story of how things ended up this way are in their profiles (to be uploaded the day after this chapter goes live, so keep an eye out for those).
> 
> zylus getting the vault hunters to bring daltos to him is his own way of saying 'fuck you, you put me on this planet and now you'll suffer through this hell with me' to daltos. zylus is now repaying the favor. there'll be consequences as a result of zylus' decision to send the vault hunters on that mission.
> 
> BUT THAT COMES LATER. for now, have the chapter doodles as done by the fantastic siins over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/borderlandscast%3A-the-last-vault-hunter)! if you've managed to read this entire ramble, thank you, you've been fantastic!


	8. Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know the standard drill (for the basic warnings for guns and violence) by now. there are also two instances of gore in this chapter; they are short but detailed, roughly around the middle of the chapter. there’s some body horror that comes with the second instance of gore.
> 
> there is also ableist language being used in regards to ptsd (in regards to the dismissal of and recovery from ptsd), right after the first instance of gore. other than that, please take care while reading.

It’s been two weeks since Lalna’s seen Lalnable about his new arm. Given his condition at the time, he hadn’t been able to go to Elpis with Zylus. For reasons he can’t fathom, Zylus hadn’t held it against him, instead kindly letting him know about the next scheduled trip to the moon, on top of wishing him to get well.

He’d also said something about ‘no rush, just waiting for our side of the coast to align with Elpis’ and a whole bunch of other piloty things that’d flown over Lalna’s head. In any case, he’d thanked Zylus, feeling a lot less guilty about being a no-show after having requested said favor.

Lalna’s currently sitting on a bench in Lalnable’s clinic, shirt pulled up to his chest. 

The air is not that cold but manages to still raise goosebumps along his exposed skin. He tries not to squirm on the spot as Lalnable examines his neat rows of stitches, poking and prodding them with a gloved hand. He’s gentle about it, at least.

Without straightening up, Lalnable extracts a tool out from his pocket, holding it out in one hand. When it’s millimetres away from Lalna’s side, he glances up with a devilish glint in his eye. Lalna’s gaze flicks from him to the tool. He tries not to let the fear show in his eyes (much to his twin’s sick and twisted amusement).

He can’t take his eyes off the tool; it looks like a mean pair of pliers, except the ends are pinched, daintier and without a doubt, _sharp_. He swallows, slapping down the urge to steadily inch away from it.

“This might hurt,” Lalnable warns, adding (in a far too cheerful tone) after a beat, “I wouldn’t move, just in case!”

Lalna doesn’t bother nodding, simply squeezing his eyes shut and braces for the incoming pain of having his stitches removed. A deep breath follows, lodging in his chest. He tries his best to stay still, frozen in place by the cheer terror of having his stitches torn the wrong way out if he so much as sneezes.

The moment he tries, itches spring up here and there (one on his nose, another on his non-metal arm) and the urge to jiggle his leg, just to get some sort of movement going, is irresistible. But he tries anyway, for Lalnable’s sake.

A snip, followed by a gentle, tugging sensation (a lot like peeling a giant flake of dead skin sloughing off from sunburn, without any of the satisfying relief). He can hear Lalnable pull away, feeling the rush of air being displaced nearby as he does so.

He opens his eyes and blinks, confused. That’s it? _Fucker._ Lalnable shakes his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Loose, spidery black thread dangles from the jaws of the tool that Lalnable is holding.

“You can pull your shirt down now,” Lalnable says with a smug undertone. He discards the thread, the tool vanishing into his inventory with an eye-watering flash of blue and white light pixels.

He reaches up to examine Lalna’s metal arm before Lalna can pull away and declare that he’s ‘fine, thanks and bye!’.

“ _Um_ ,” Lalna says as he tenses up, knowing what’s coming.

“In the two or so weeks since your last appointment with me,” Lalnable slowly starts, sounding and looking more incredulous with every word, “Did you take your new arm apart and then put it back together?” He points to some of the screws (which are clearly not how he last left them).

“Nooooo,” Lalna says, deliberately looking past him and avoiding his narrowed gaze of suspicion. It’s hard to ignore him because he continues to watch with the look of a man who knows and is simply waiting for a confession.

The seconds tick by, agonizingly so. Lalnable patiently waits, glowering the entire time.

“Okay, maybe I did!” Lalna cries out, unable to handle the weight of his gaze upon him. He remembers to lower his voice when it echoes down the corridor. Thankfully, the clinic is empty at this hour. “I just didn’t want you to get mad at me for wanting to make it even better by taking it apart.”

He sags where he’s sitting, casting a sheepish glance at Lalnable. Lalnable has since drawn back with his arms crossed over his chest, still glowering, the very picture of disapproval.

“You know what, you should just start your own company and make your own arms since the one I ordered apparently wasn’t good enough for _you_!” He’s not quite shouting but not speaking calmly either, his words overflowing with exasperation. With a matching look, he throws his hands up into the air, _done_. “You haven’t learned anything!”

“That’s not true!” Lalna counters as Lalnable’s chest heaves, his hands falling to his sides. “You know I just have to…” He gestures vaguely, mind blanking out on what word he wants to use.

‘“Tinker,” Lalnable dryly supplies, having since put his hands down, the exasperation having faded into annoyance (likely an understatement).

“That’s the word!” Lalna grins at him in a transparent effort to defuse the situation with the power of pure optimism. “So I can get it just right because you never know with these arms.” He raises and waves said prosthetic arm, almost clocking Lalnable in the head if he hadn’t stepped back in time.

“Like an itch you can’t help scratching until it’s too late.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way…” Lalna says while he makes a disgusted face at the mental image of what Lalnable’s just said.

“I am not stitching you back up if you happen to blow yourself up again.” Lalnable starts tidying up with a shake of his head, expression dour.

“Oooohh, but you will, because _you love me_ ,” Lalna gushes, beaming at him (rather idiotically, Lalnable thinks).

Lalnable scoffs, a sharp exhale accompanied with a sneer to match because _that is not going to happen_.

“Examination’s over. Now begone, I need to make a call.” He waves a hand as if shooing a pest (which Lalna is, taking into account what he has to put up with these days).

Lalna slides off the table, pulling his shirt back down into place. Lalnable strips the gloves off his hand, discarding them and ignores Lalna to pull out his ECHO device from a digistruct module nestling inside his lab coat pocket.

There’s a message from Will Strife. Lalnable skims the text; it says something about accepting dating offers from the fifty or so plus people Will’s sent his way. Lalnable will have to think of something appropriate for his revenge.

The second message is a response from someone on the east coast who has supplied a list of times and dates they’ll be home. They’ve given him the freedom of choosing when to drop by, as his schedule is more cluttered and strict than theirs. 

Lalnable appreciates the added effort and consideration, he really does. Unlike _someone_. Said someone is trying to stickybeak by standing on tip-toe behind him in a poor attempt to steal glimpses of his ECHO device.

As tempting as it is to fuck with Will Strife, business comes first. He has to figure out a suitable time to make the requested house call, but someone wraps their arms around him before he dial. He thinks someone is trying to suffocate or smother him but then he realizes it’s only Lalna. 

_Lalna is hugging him._

“Love you,” Lalna says, his voice full of warmth as his head rests against Lalnable’s shoulder. 

Lalnable purses his lips. He briefly considers braining Lalna with one of the nearby clipboards but decides he doesn't need to treat him for physical trauma induced by a flat, blunt object moving at a ridiculously fast speed. 

“Lalna, you will take your hands off me this instant and show yourself through the front door before I dropkick you out,” Lalnable grounds out.

At that, Lalna lets go and scampers off with a giggle. As his footsteps fade, Lalnable wonders why he even _bothers_ sometimes. 

The hug had been rather nice though. Still, he could do with a warning beforehand so he’s not standing near anything that might cause due harm if Lalna fancies surprising him again.

\--

At Sanctuary Hole within the privacy of Turps’ office, a man with a grey pallor to his skin lounges in a wooden chair across from Turps. One languid hand lays across atop his khaki cargo shorts. His other hand is thrown over the back of the chair. Socked and sandaled feet lie flat on the floorboards.

If the man had wanted to lend a slovenly impression, his Hawaiian shirt (patterned with realistic-looking dollar bills sewn into the fabric) could have been unbuttoned but it’s not.

A strange first impression to impose on anybody, Turps thinks but he’s not about to judge anyone on appearances if they want to do business in Sanctuary Hole. 

“All you want to do is sell guns in Sanctuary Hole?” He leans forward, careful not to scatter the associated paperwork (permits, licenses, inventory lists, the man had come _prepared_ ) on top of his desk as he does so.

It’s sunny outside, which means the room is sweltering despite the open window, as usual. The room’s only means of cooling down is in the single ceiling fan wobbling overhead, the blades off-kilter.

Idly, Turps wishes he’d thought to remove his trademark, dark brown duster coat when he’d entered his office earlier. The coat makes him look cool and authoritative, but he’s beginning to regret keeping it on if it means having to sit and sweat copiously through every meeting.

Taking it off now would seem unprofessional, so he makes do with taking off his sheriff’s hat and laying it out on the desk instead. He can’t help but breath out a little in relief as a light, cooling breeze passes through the room as well. That’s better.

The man levels a bored look (or at least, what feels like a bored look) at him through the tinted, swirly lens of his beaglepuss glasses. Turps is silently pleased at his own ability to keep a straight face, a necessary skill any meriff worth their salt had in their arsenal (next to being able to lie through their teeth to anybody).

“Well, the last time I tried to sell something, I ended up with ninety-nine problems and money ain’t one of them,” The man lazily drawls.

Turps mulls over the man’s words, turning them over in his mind as cold stones of evidence. It doesn’t feel like the man is trying to lie to him or setting him up to be backstabbed. There is however, one thing he has to confirm first.

“Are you going to steal the power core?” He bluntly asks.

“Yes, and I’m going to shove it up my ass. Good luck getting it back.” The man’s expression remains serene, even as he spouts the most ridiculous sentences.

“I’m starting to think you’re fucking with me.” Turps’ chair creaks as he shifts to eye the man with growing suspicion that this man isn’t who he seems. He seems awfully familiar but he can’t quite place it. And Turps likes to think he has a knack for remembering faces. 

If only those fucking glasses weren’t in the way.

Turps curbs the urge to lean across and snatch them from the man’s face but _no_ , he is the meriff and he is going to _behave_ like a proper meriff should. That means no snatching of glasses (unless it really has to come to that, if the man is indeed a wanted fugitive is disguise).

For the first time since he walked in, the man grins at him, the grin all white, straight, even teeth.

The sudden change in expression is unsettling. Resisting a full body shiver in spite of the heat, Turps debates barring the man from Sanctuary Hole for his cheek until the man sits up, taking his arm off the back of the chair. The chair creaks as he properly sits up.

The man fishes around in the pockets of his shorts with a hand. He proceeds to pull out a large wad of crisp, rubber-banded green bills. He doesn’t bother to count them, simply tossing the entire lot onto Turps’ desk, sending some papers fluttering to the floor.

“Does that sweeten the deal, Mister Meriff?” The man asks, his grin calculating all of the sudden.

Turps stares at the bills as if they’re solid diamond bars for approximately five seconds (though it feels like five whole minutes to him). He tosses the man an impressed look, refusing to think about bribery and whether or not as a meriff he can accept them.

“Are you trying to bribe me?” He softly asks, making sure to keep an offended edge out of his tone.

“Let’s just call it a ‘cut of the coming profits’ and leave at that, hm?” The man lightly responds, in a tone that suggests Turps should just take the money and stop asking questions.

Suddenly, saying ‘no’ doesn’t seem like an attractive idea as it’d been several minutes ago. Ignoring his conscience rolling over in its grave, Turps reaches for the money, not bothering to count it. It goes into his inventory (next to his gun and shield).

“Let’s talk about location,” He says, projecting a map of Sanctuary Hole onto his desk, trying not to think about the fact that he’s just been bribed. On the other hand, it feels like he’s just narrowly dodged a bullet by accepting the money.

At the back of his mind, he realizes he’s no longer tense all over.

“We’re going to be _great_ friends,” The man says, returning to the laid-back tone he’d been using before. “Can I smoke in here, by the way?”

A cigar is digistructed along with a lighter, the cigar’s golden band shining as it catches the sunlight. He looks at Turps, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, poised to smoke as if he already knows his answer. 

With a wary hand, Turps silently nudges the empty, brand-new ashtray on his desk towards the man, who lights up his cigar (while looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world).

\--

“Explain to me how you got another power core and didn’t tell us?” Rythian says from his bar stool in the Crooked Caber.

He hasn’t had time to catch up with Ravs as Turps had piled outstanding missions on him and the other Vault Hunters upon their return to Sanctuary Hole. It’d been nice, to be kept busy and get paid but now he’s glad for the chance to rest up before the next mission.

Rythian shifts on the stool to get comfortable, managing to barely fit his long legs underneath the counter again. He tosses a faintly annoyed look at Ravs before lining up his knife and fork on top of his empty plate and pushing said plate towards him.

His hand is already coming up to pull his scarf up out of habit; he stills his hand just in time, leaving his scarf down around his neck. There’s no harm in doing so as he’s in safe company, he figures, letting his hand drop to rest on top of the counter. 

Nobody’s staring at him, so he takes it as a good sign.

“Well, I tried to call _you_ ,” Ravs immediately points out, jabbing an accusing finger at him before whisking the plate away, “But _you_ never picked up.” He doesn’t add that he’d tried multiple times, but Rythian probably already knows.

“Fair enough,” Rythian lightly says, reminded of the events leading up to missing the calls from Ravs. “Sorry,” He adds, sheepish.

“It’s alright, considering what happened while you were knocked out.” Ravs shares a snicker with Nilesy, the two of them glancing at each other as they do so. Nilesy is occupying a stool to Rythian’s right, his feet kicking up every now and again under the counter. 

Rythian inwardly sighs, resolving to never send Zoeya anything remotely embarrassing ever again in the future, since she apparently feels the need to share it with the others.

“Anyways, turns out Team Bankrupt-” Nilesy brightly starts but Rythian interrupts him. 

“Who’s Team Bankrupt?” Rythian can’t help but look puzzled.

He has a vague idea but he’d like to make sure since one can never be too sure about nicknames on Pandora. Nilesy nods in the direction of Xephos and Honeydew. Rythian turns his head, finding the two occupying a wall booth nearby.

The other two Vault Hunters are deeply absorbed in a card game that he doesn’t recognize. Dog-eared cards are strewn everywhere on the table, each of the cards facing up. There’s also the remains of a semi-demolished deck between them. Rythian returns his gaze back to Nilesy.

“As I was saying, Team Bankrupt scrounged up another power core so we can just swap them in and out as needed between charges,” Nilesy finishes, pushing his glasses back up with his elbow. “There also hasn’t been a single peep from the Bloody Bandits, according to my contact watching them.”

“It’s suspicious, that’s what. They’re usually a rowdy lot, throwing parties and generally being obnoxious,” Ravs notes with a disapproving shake of his head. “Someone needs to go find out what’s going on.” 

Rythian senses an inquiring look being directed at him.

“I can round up the others and we can go and check out the dam,” He says. They’d accepted the mission weeks ago but when it’d seemed like there hadn’t been any trouble brewing, it’d been forgotten until now.

“Great!” Ravs beams at him. Rythian waits for him to step out from behind the counter since this seems like a mission he should be coming along on, to play diplomat.

“You’re not going with us?” He eventually asks when it doesn’t seem like Ravs is moving. Ravs laughs, holding up a hand.

“Rythian, I’m incredibly flattered you’d want me to accompany you, but that’s a bad idea for several reasons. One, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that their new leader, if they’ve chosen a new one, will want my head on a sharp stick.” Ravs folds down a finger. “Second, I like my head where it is.”

Rythian does not disagree in that he likes where Ravs’ head is, but he’s not saying that out loud since it’ll probably stroke Ravs’ ego. He just says in a bland tone, “Okay.”

Another finger folds down. “Third, I’d probably distract your party, what with my good looks and all.”

At that precise moment, Teep appears at the doorway to the back room, pushing the door there open. It swings shut behind them without a creak of its hinges. 

They walk behind Ravs, only to pause and sign at the back of his head, “Also, he killsteals.”

Rythian carefully tries not to laugh because it’s so horribly _true_. Out of the corner of his eye, Nilesy looks like he’s biting his cheek in an attempt to remain silent. 

Ravs can’t help but notice where Rythian’s eyes flick to (over his shoulder). He turns around to glance at Teep, fixing them with a suspicious look. Teep automatically drops both hands and feigns innocence by staring back.

Eventually, Ravs turns back around to face Rythian. Teep moves around the counter and takes the empty seat to Rythian’s left, folding their arms on top of the counter.

“Teep, stop using the back door when the front one is perfectly useable,” Ravs says to them, sounding mildly annoyed before remembering where he left off, addressing Rythian again. “Fourth-”

“You can stop, Ravs. I get it, you’re not tagging along,” Rythian cuts in, unsure if he’ll keep listing reasons until one of them caves.

“Don’t look so disappointed, Rythian.” Ravs puts down his hand with a grin that Rythian immediately knows as not boding well (for him, that is). “You can take Nilesy instead!” 

It takes a few seconds for Rythian to process the last sentence. When he finally does, he can’t help but glance at Nilesy, his gaze questioning. Nilesy is sporting a wide grin of his own as well but it’s not as devious as Ravs’.

“Not to be rude or anything, but the last time we took Nilesy along, he didn’t exactly…” Rythian trails off, having no idea how to delicately put the fact that he didn’t do shit.

“Do shit?” Nilesy pipes up, saying what’s exactly on Rythian’s mind. “I know, I’m just there to look pretty,” He says, tossing his unblemished, black hair with an exaggerated flick of his wrist.

“Thatta boy,” Ravs says, almost proud. “Don't let anybody tell you that you’re not pretty, because I will punch them.” It sounds like he’s joking but Teep and Rythian know that he’s dead serious.

“Thanks. Anyway, I’m far prettier than Ravs.” There’s no mistaking the confidence in Nilesy’ voice.

Rythian lets out an amused snort, inclined to disagree (but that’s best kept to himself). Ravs laughs, feigning indignance with a wounded gesture after, an indulgent smile on his face. 

The three of them look at Teep. After a moment, Teep responds in the way of a solemn nod as if agreeing with Nilesy.

Ravs swipes at them with a playful hand, causing Rythian to react by almost leaping out of his seat. Teep pushes away from the counter with a sudden wooden, scraping noise. Now out of grabbing range, they shake their head, also wagging a finger at Ravs, the gesture mocking.

Xephos and Honeydew wince at the likeness to the nails-on-chalkboard sound from where they’re sitting. Otherwise, the two carry on with their card game without looking over. Rythian resettles, mentally trying to reassure his heart into doing so as well.

“Teep, come here and take that back right now,” Ravs coaxes as he leans across and on the counter. One of his hands lays flat on the wooden surface, the other beckoning them closer.

He spies blue headed straight for his hand. Without hesitating, he yanks his hand back and off the counter. The knife’s edge stops a centimetre above the counter. Teep’s shoulders slump as if disappointed they hadn’t been able to stab Ravs in the hand.

“Should have left your hand there,” They somehow sign with just one free hand. The combat knife is stowed somewhere on their belt.

Rythian blinks. That’d just happened in a span of a few heartbeats. Nilesy closes his mouth, looking between Ravs and Teep with an awed expression, having been unable to move, let alone react.

“Thank you for not wrecking my counter,” Ravs says, apparently unbothered that he’d been close to being stabbed in the hand. All he does is look thoughtful, tapping his chin with a finger. “Looks like we need a new rule about knives-”

“Knives are fair game,” Teep signs in protest, “Since you don’t have a handicap while I do...”

“Break it up, you two.” Rythian interrupts, letting a disapproving sigh escape at what sort of spontaneous game the two have concocted and are playing.

They both give him identical looks of disappointment (that Rythian can feel through Teep’s goggles and the layers of cloth wrapped around on their face) before ignoring him and picking up the thread of their conversation.

For that, Rythian can’t help but throw a look at Nilesy that says ‘see what I have to put up with?’. Nilesy pretends not to see it, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he fights the impulse to smile.

“Okay, for realsies though, my contact is in a spot of trouble at the Bloodshot Ramparts, so I’m tagging along to see what’s wrong,” Nilesy notes. He turns (with a look of hope on his face) to Rythian to confirm whether or not he can do so.

“Sure,” Rythian says, unable to find it within himself to say ‘no’ and disappoint Ravs and Nilesy. “Just remember to stay out of the way once trouble starts.”

He doesn’t mind Nilesy tagging along all that much, actually. What’s he really concerned about is trouble brewing and not being able to look out for him between the ducking, giving orders, avoiding friendly fire, trying not to get wounded and shooting.

That being said, Nilesy has still the shield Will Strife gave him on top of being smart about being shot at. Said shield is dangling without a care in the world from Nilesy’s belt. Whenever he moves, there’s a faint, blue sheen to his form, indicating that the shield is in place, fully charged.

With that, Rythian slides off his barstool and stands. Before he goes, he watches Ravs and Teep for a minute or so to make sure the two won’t cause each other (or anyone else) any trouble. 

They pause in their banter about rules to look at each other as if they haven’t the faintest idea what ‘trouble’ is, then back at him. He decides he’s not responsible for the two anymore, taking the stairs up to the bar’s second floor. 

He makes a mental note to ask Zoeya to keep an eye on them. Nilesy follows him upstairs to ‘let his friend know’, vanishing into the guest room that’s become his unofficial bedroom.

“Stop winning!” Xephos shouts at Honeydew from downstairs. A hollow ‘thud’ sounds, as if they’d tried to stand up and had painfully hit their knees on the underside of the table instead. “Ow!”

“You alright over there?” Ravs calls out to them in a mildly concerned tone..

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m fine,” Xephos replies, sounding embarrassed. “Sorry for causing a disturbance.”

“Remember to play nice,” Ravs gently reminds. “I’d rather not have to break up a fight this early in the day.”

Rythian refrains from walking over to the banister and shouting down ‘hypocrite’ at him but suspects Teep has beat him to it, judging by the sudden sounds of a scuffle breaking out below.

“Xephos, there’s no need to get so worked up, it’s only a game,” Honeydew consoles (but there’s an undertone of childish glee in his voice).

“Why am I so _bad_ at this game, it’s like you’re cheating or something...” Xephos laments, punctuating the end of their sentence with a frustrated sigh.

On the second floor, several tables have been pushed together at a booth with only one occupant. The combined surfaces are overflowing with paperwork, sheets and tidy stacks laid out in a manner that only makes sense to Will.

Will’s head is bent low to scan a page in front of him. He idly scratches his head, contemplating neat rows of numbers before him on said page. A sleek, stainless steel fountain pen is tucked behind one of his ears. His sunglasses are obscuring his eyes, his red shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“You got a moment, Strife?” Rythian says, softly, as to not startle him. When he draws close enough, there’s a giant stack of paper blocking the two of them from looking directly at each other.

“Huh?” Will’s head snaps up at his name, his expression of concentration vanishing (complete with a ‘poof’ sound, from Rythian’s perspective). He pushes his sunglasses up, blinking as he leans back in the booth. “Oh yes, just let me-” He shoves the offending stack out of the way to properly survey him. “What’s up?”

“We got a mission. You don’t have to come along since this will probably be quick.” That’s a lie, but Rythian feels bad for disturbing Will in the first place to let him know.

“Rythian, if there’s something you should learn about me?” Will starts to pile the paperwork into a battered black suitcase that’s open on the seat next to him. “It’s that I _loathe_ paperwork,” He pauses to visibly shudder, “And will absolutely embrace and make sweet, sweet love to the first opportunity that comes along that’ll get me out of it.”

The urge to chuckle is strong but Rythian is determined to keep a straight face, lest Strife be encouraged by any visible amusement, judging by the expectant look he’s sporting.

“If you’re prepositioning me, the answer is ‘no’,” Rythian carefully says, earning a genuine and slightly mortified laugh from Will.

“You weren’t meant to take that so literally!” Will tells him, unable to stop another laugh escaping. He starts to roll down his shirt sleeves, expertly smoothing out any wrinkles that have since manifested as symptoms of hard work.

Rythian decides not to pursue that particular topic (move along, nothing to see here). “Where are Nanosounds and Lalna?” He doesn’t see them but he knows they’re close by.

“Lalna went to see Lalnable about his stitches and arm and Nanosounds is writing letters,” Will tells him after taking a moment to consult his memory.

“Writing letters?” Rythian’s never exactly pegged Nanosounds as the letter-writing type. He’s never seen her hold so much as a pen during their time off.

Vandalizing his sketchbook with abysmal doodles and breaking almost every pen and pencil he has in the process due to her enthusiasm and the strength of her grip doesn’t count. Then again, she does spend a lot of time on her ECHO device during their downtimes.

“I’ll get her while you ECHO Lalna and see if he’s done,” Will says. Rythian nods.

Having finished piling everything back into the suitcase, he clicks the suitcase latch shut. In one bold move, he manages to shove the entire thing back into his inventory. He’ll deal with the rest of the paperwork in due time.

As Rythian fiddles with his ECHO device, Will wanders towards the nearest guest room, where one of the doors is propped open with a small ammo crate. Not wanting to barge in and forget that manners do in fact, exist, he knocks three times, making sure his raps on the metal are loud and clear.

“Come in!” He enters to see Nanosounds sprawled out on one of the beds, holding her ECHO device above her head in one hand. Her boots had been kicked off at some point, one on its side on the floor and the other almost under the bed.

There’s the remains of her meal (a plate with a fork and knife piled on top of it as well as empty ration and skag jerky wrappers) scattered on the bed next to her. She cranes her head back to peer upside-down at him. She rolls onto her stomach, waving in greeting. The plate on the bed gently clinks as it’s jostled.

“How’s letter writing going?”

Nanosounds makes a bored, noncommittal gesture and an ‘eeehhh’ sound. “If I didn’t have to censor most of my adventures with you and the others, my life would be so much easier.” She sighs dramatically, her hand falling onto the bed.

“Who are you writing to, by the way?” Will can’t help being curious, leaning against the doorway.

“My Mother,” Nanosounds flatly says. Her tone and mild scowl says a lot about her relationship with her mother. Somehow, Will can’t help but hear the word ‘mother’ being capitalized in his mind, even if she’d said it normally.

There’s a brief pause as he figures out how to respond to such an unenthusiastic response. “Oh. Well. Good luck,” He finally settles on saying. He mentally kicks himself for sounding so awkward a second later.

“Thanks. I’ll need it,” She says with a grateful smile, clueless about his lack of social graces. “I want to let her know I’m doing well, but at the same time, if I don’t write enough, she’s going to think I’m anything but fine.” She sighs again, her bare feet restlessly kicking the air behind her.

“You can stay here to finish your letter.” Will stops leaning against the doorway, drawing up straight. “Rythian says he’s got a mission. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“A mission?” She visibly perks up. “I’m in.” The ECHO device she’s holding vanishes. She sits up, snatching up the plate before it can bounce off the bed from her movements. The empty wrappers crinkle as she gathers them up.

“All right, get your stuff and let’s go.” Will walks over to take the plate from her so she can gather her boots and pull them on.

Back out on the second floor, Rythian spies Lalna coming into the bar from where he stands. He puts away his ECHO device, ready to call out to him but Lalna walks over to the bar where Ravs and Teep are. 

The two turn to Lalna after he waves to get their attention, just as Rythian makes his way downstairs to see their conversation play out.

“You remember the gun you wanted me to find Lynchwood?” Lalna begins, suddenly looking nervous. He tries to stand up straight to disguise it; Rythian notes he would have succeeded if it weren’t for his matching expression.

“The Bane?” Teep signs, looking from Ravs to Lalna. Ravs confirms with an agreeing nod.

“Yeah, that one,” Lalna says like he’s beginning to regret opening his mouth in the first place.

“Did you find it?” Ravs asks, leaning on the counter with an interested look on his face.

“Yes, I did, actually. Wasn’t too hard.”

“Then you can either give it to me or this fucker,” Teep signs, their hand moving to gesture with an impatient air at Ravs after. He huffs at the insult, rolling his eyes. “So, what’ll it be?”

“The thing is, I want to keep the gun,” Lalna confesses with the air of someone who would very much like the floor to swallow him up and not spit him back out again.

He looks down at his feet, bracing in preparation for some sort of outraged explosion mirroring that of Nanosounds and Strife’s on the train from Lynchwood. When none comes, he looks at up, puzzled at the lack thereof.

“You okay with him keeping it?” Ravs asks Teep. Teep shrugs. The two seem utterly unconcerned with Lalna’s confession. “I mean, it’s cursed so we’re better off destroying it,” He points out.

“He can do whatever he wants with it,” Teep coolly responds in their usual manner of speaking. “He’s read my notes and heard the logs, so he knows what he’s in for.”

“Then it’s settled. Lalna, you can keep the gun. If you run into any trouble with it, you know who to turn it over to,” Ravs says, turning to face Lalna with a smile on his face. He doesn’t even sound that disappointed in him.

“Preferably before you off yourself,” Teep wryly notes. Lalna nods, somewhat hastily.

Upon seeing the enormously relieved look that appears on his face, Ravs chuckles, adopting a coy tone. “Were you expecting us to bite you? That can be arranged.”

“Leave me out of it,” Teep signs with a disgruntled shake of their head. Ravs chances an inviting smirk that’s directed towards them.

“Thanks, for understanding and for the mission,” Lalna says, looking down at the floor and scratching the back of his head with his left hand. He is going to pretend he didn’t just hear that and besides, Ravs is probably joking, right?

“You’re welcome, Lalna. We’ll probably have more missions for you in the future, unexpected third choices included...”

Rythian decides to step in before Ravs can embarrass him further, taking pity.

“Lalna!” He calls out from across the room. Lalna glances up, searching for him. He’s unable to stop a bright grin appearing on his face at the sight of Rythian. He walks over with a spring in his step.

“Rythian,” Lalna pleasantly acknowledges once he’s standing by him.

“How are your arm and stitches?” Rythian can’t help but give him a once-over like the results are visibly plastered somewhere on his being.

“I got my stitches taken out. Lalnable trolled me in the process, but look at my healed scar!” Lalna rolls his eyes as he pulls his shirt up to proudly show off his scar. 

“Nice scar,” Rythian says before he can stop himself. It’s actually an impressive first scar, which might possibly beat his own. Ravs happens to glance over, wolf-whistling from the counter just as Lalna looks pleased.

That causes Lalna to hurriedly pull his shirt back down, flushing slightly as he does so. “Um, to answer your other question, I’m great!” He quickly says, tucking it back under the knot of his lab coat. “What’s going on, though?”

Rythian knocks away the temptation to chuckle at Lalna’s reaction to the wolf-whistling. Instead, he lightly says, “We have a mission.”

Lalna’s face falls; Rythian can sort of understand already missing the downtime right when they’re handed a mission. “What kind of mission?” He tentatively asks, fearing the answer.

“Just checking out a bandit camp for Ravs.” Rythian pauses to look mildly concerned. “Are you sure you’re feeling well? You look a little pale.” He raises a hand as if to rest it against Lalna’s forehead to test for a fever.

“No, I’m fine! It’s just…” Lalna takes a step back so that he can’t. “I’m still getting used to my new arm. Lalnable had to do some tweaks, that’s all,” He lies, the words sticking in his mouth like a bad aftertaste.

“Shouldn’t he make you more comfortable instead of the opposite?” Rythian proceeds to frown, putting down his hand. Lalna sees that he’s seriously debating on having ‘words’ with Lalnable. 

Without his scarf pulled up, Rythian suddenly seems more imposing with such a look on his face.

“It’s fine, you don’t need to talk to Lalnable about anything! He just didn't like the fact I like to tinker with it and made me undo some of the changes,” Lalna quickly says, hoping Rythian won’t argue with standing up for his twin.

Rythian stops frowning, appearing to buy it but he still sounds a mixture of annoyed and concerned. “Well, you can do whatever you want with your arm since it’s not his but be careful.”

“I will,” Lalna says, crossing the fingers of one hand behind his back. Rythian had sounded chastising, just like Lalnable had. Really, Lalna is sure that he won’t fuck up his arm a second time, even if everybody else is confident in that he will.

“What’s this I hear about a mission?” Honeydew pops up next to them with Xephos in tow. Lalna could have kissed him for the timing.

Xephos is neatly arranging the deck of cards in their hands into some sort of order with a sharp series of ruffle . They pause with a slight frown as if noticing there’s a card missing upon closer scrutiny.

There’s a card sticking out of Honeydew’s beard that he (and Xephos) haven’t appeared to have noticed yet. Lalna discretely gestures to it as Nilesy and Nanosounds join them for the briefing. Will Strife joins a moment later after handing in an empty plate to Ravs. His face is slightly pink as if he’d been on the receiving end of Ravs’ innuendos. 

Honeydew does not look at Xephos, stealthily pushing the card back into his beard with a finger as Rythian explains the mission. Xephos lets out a frustrated sound, excusing themself, putting away the deck and walking back to the booth they’d sat at, crawling underneath the table in search of the missing card.

Chancing a sideways glance at Xephos, Honeydew puts a finger to his lips while looking straight at Lalna.

Lalna refrains from letting out a small giggle, paying as much attention as he can before worry about how the mission will go down starts to gnaw away at him. Please, just this once, let him _not_ kill anybody.

It’s a futile wish, but it’s one Lalna hopes will hold true even if it’s just for one mission.

\--

The seven of them depart Sanctuary Hole, four to a technical and the rest on Stingrays, courtesy of Will Strife (as usual). Nilesy directs them to the dam from the back of the technical. As they pass Lalnable’s clinic, Lalna can’t help but give a friendly wave in its direction (with one of the windows shuttering a second later).

It occurs to Lalna to ask Lalnable about what’s going on at the Bloodshot Ramparts but it’s too late, they’ve passed the clinic and have arrived at their destination. Lalna climbs off his Stingray. It vanishes as Will Strife recalls it and the other Stingrays.

There are three people (one of them Zoeya) standing outside the small shack nearby, chatting to one another in quiet, subdued voices. Lalna and the others head over to them. Nilesy makes a beeline straight for the the one with blue-dyed hair.

“Lomadia!”

“Nilesy,” The person called ‘Lomadia’ evenly says. She gives him a curt, welcoming nod before glancing in their directions.

“This is Lomadia,” Nilesy brightly says. “She’s been kind enough to keep an eye on the Bloody Bandits while you lot were going after power cores.”

She says nothing, simply giving each of them calm once-overs, shifting to adjust the holster slung over one shoulder. There’s a Jakobs sniper rifle slung across her back. Rythian silently admires it and appreciates her taste from where he stands.

They all have the distinct impression that talking isn’t one of her strong suits. Nilesy proceeds to introduce each of them in turn to her, clearly used to it.

“So, what appears to be the problem?” Nanosounds asks Lomadia, greatly approve of her stylishness if the grin on her face is anything to go by.

“I have a rakk companion. They flew over the dam a while ago,” Lomadia explains while raising a hand to point to the dam. “And haven’t come back yet, which is worrying. That’s never happened before.”

“You can’t just call it back?” Will asks, unable to help sounding skeptical. Managing to refrain from adding ‘assuming it’s that well-trained in the first place’, he tries not to take a step back as she throws a sharp, disapproving look in his direction. 

She sighs, raises a hand to her mouth and whistles. 

An eerie, piercing sound rings out and echoes across the open space. Everybody looks up, expecting to see the rakk appear (for some reason, Lalna flinches but appears to catch himself, going still). When nothing happens, she glances back at Will.

“See, nothing,” She says, somewhat more pointedly than she has to.

“Be nice, Lomadia,” Nilesy reminds. She makes a soft scornful sound but says nothing else, turning to watch the dam for any sign of her companion returning on the off chance that it’d heard her.

“Point taken. Hard to ignore a sound like that,” Will says, shaking his head to dismiss the momentary ringing in his ears from the whistle.

“I think my ears are bleeding,” Honeydew comments, taking his hands away from his ears. Xephos quickly checks.

“They’re not,” They reassure him. “Wait, how do you even tame a rakk in the first place?” They can’t help but ask a second later. 

Zoeya and Lomadia turn to them. Zoeya looks downright excited as she starts to explain with Lomadia quietly correcting her every now and again.

While that’s happening, Rythian notices Saberial. She’s standing off to the side, keeping to herself, hands stuffed into the pockets of her leather jacket. He walks over to her, remembering that she’d been in Lynchwood with somebody else? That’s right, HybridPanda.

“Where’s your partner?” He quietly asks, not feeling the need to introduce himself.

“Rythian, right? I remember you.” Rythian nods to confirm, glad she doesn’t mention Lynchwood. “Who?” She blinks at his question, tensing up until understanding dawns on her. “Oh! You mean Panda.” She relaxes with a small laugh. “Panda’s not my partner, they’re my sibling. And they’re off chasing after some bounties.”

“Sibling?” Rythian has a hard time imagining the strangely polite and short bounty hunter as a sibling, especially to someone like Saberial. He can’t see any sort of familial resemblance either but decides to put it down to a quirk of genetics. Or possibly adoption?

“Adoptive sibling, actually. Panda’s family was kind enough to take me in when I was but a wee child.” She puts a hand out so that it’s level with her shoulder, smiling like she’s used to telling the story. “I’m kidding, it was back when I was a teenager-”

“It’s a great story! Want to hear it?” Zoeya eagerly butts in upon seeing the two of them converse. Rythian glances over at the others to see they’re all engaged in the middle of a heated debate with Lomadia about the domestication of rakks (and the ill-advised endeavours of such).

“Sure, go on,” Rythian encourages, dragging his attention back to Zoeya and Saberial.

Zoeya immediately launches into the story without needing any further encouragement. “Her entire adoptive family are all mercenaries, even all the relatives and they sort of trained her to be one as well. You should hear about her adoptive mom, she taught her and Panda how to kick ass-”

“Remember to slow down and breathe,” Rythian reminds her. She sucks in a much-needed breath, her eyes practically sparkling.

“Sorry, it’s just.” Zoeya gestures in Saberial’s direction, excitedly. “I have a really cool girlfriend!” She gushes with a dreamy sigh. Saberial shifts where she stands, looking somewhat embarrassed but pleased at the same time. 

Upon seeing their happiness, he feels a pang of jealousy, reminded of his own loneliness. However, it’s vanquished so fast from his being that he’d barely registered it in the first place, used to doing so whenever it crops up.

“You move fast,” Rythian says to Saberial, meaning it as a compliment. “Can’t have been all that long since you two met.”

“Well, she’s cute. You agree, right?” Saberial gives him a dark look promising violence if he disagrees. Zoeya is oblivious since Saberial is standing behind her.

“Yes, she is,” He hastily agrees.

Not that he’d been planning on disagreeing: Zoeya is adorable in her own way and he doesn’t really want to get beat up for implying otherwise, especially not by Zoeya’s new girlfriend and upsetting Zoeya in the process.

He thinks of asking Saberial about how close Panda is to finding out Teep’s location, then thinks better of it. He doesn’t know if Saberial is in league with Panda about that, despite how friendly she appears. Also, he trusts that Teep knows to stay out of both their ways (however that works now, what with Zoeya having made Saberial her girlfriend).

“Great! I’m glad Rythian agrees,” Saberial says, beaming. “Because I’d have punched him in the face if he hadn’t.”

“Aw, thanks,” Zoeya says, flushing slightly. She takes Saberial’s hand, the two of them smiling fondly at each other; Rythian imagines cartoon pink hearts floating upwards above their heads. “But there’s no need for you beat him up for disagreeing, I’ll just sic Teep on him to do it for you!”

“There’s no need to for that! And beauty is in the eye of the beholder!” Rythian protests, causing Saberial and Zoeya to laugh but not unkindly. His shouting has caught the attention of the others. “Besides, we have the problem of getting into the Bloodshot Stronghold,” He says, much more quietly.

They all turn to regard the dam across from them, all conversations dying as they do so.

The dam is a giant, miserable, grey-walled and weathered structure with graffiti and words in paint scrawled across it, too pale and faded with time to read. It’s difficult to see the top of the dam from where they’re standing. It stretches from one end of Three Horns to the other, following the river and mountains it’s set against.

Towers rise at regular intervals along the top. The threadbare flag of the Bloody Bandits flutters proudly from its pole atop the tallest tower. Dam machinery set into the walls quietly turn, fulfilling some sort of unknown purpose known only to them, though some have long since stopped with rust or have simply deteriorated, becoming a part of the scenery.

The only entrance to the dam is guarded by a bandit encampment enclosed in a manmade wall of its own. There’s no doubt that the camp is occupied, judging by the smoke drifting from some of the chimneys of buildings in said camp. 

Other signs of life exist, from the laundry hanging from the lines strung high to dry with the wind, mixed with battered lanterns and crude, makeshift lamps. Bored sentries patrol the rooftops, occasionally stopping to chat with one another before someone shouts at them to ‘move your asses!’, starting arguments that fizzle out shortly after.

There’s one sentry always watching the gate, as far as Rythian can tell. He and the others haven’t been noticed yet but he suspects they have to cross an invisible line before they do so and raise the alarm.

The gate to the bandit encampment consists of a sheet of metal plates haphazardly welded together, held in place by a chain that appears to lower and raise it on demand by a mechanism that he can’t discern from this far away. 

There’s only that one entrance to the dam, with no doubt that others exist but Rythian knows that he and the others don’t fancy a swim, don’t have time to find other ways in, or are physically capable of scaling the almost vertical walls of the dam to infiltrate from the top. 

His teleporter won’t teleport this many people either or that far. Theoretically, they could ask Lalna’s Loader to carry them up one at a time but it’s likely that they’ll be noticed. Bandits aren’t that unobservant (though they could be incredibly dense sometimes; he recalls the incident with the vents).

“So, how do we get in?” Strife points out, breaking the momentary silence. “Peacefully, that is. Unless any of you object to me using my turret to knock?”

“No,” Rythian automatically vetoes the idea, much to Will’s disappointment. That would be an incredibly bad idea, for obvious reasons, as the look he gives Will suggests. Will shrugs as if it’d been worth suggesting.

Nanosounds bites off a laugh, clearly amused at Will’s idea. “I could knock?”

“You’d just knock the door down,” Lalna comments, already moving to hide behind Rythian as she ‘jokingly’ brandishes a fist at him.

“I could dig in? It wouldn’t be too much of a problem,” Honeydew suggests. He digistructs his shovel, tapping the edge against the ground as if testing its integrity. 

“There’s a time and place for digging and this isn’t one of them,” Xephos testily says.

“I don’t know, it could work,” Will says, jokingly. “We’d instantly gain access if he dug us a little tunnel in.” Xephos shoots him a look that says ‘don’t encourage him’. Will and Honeydew grin at each other.

“Nilesy, that’s not a good idea,” Lomadia calls out.

The Vault Hunters turn to see what Nilesy is doing and all start. He’s striding towards the gate, a single, unarmed and scrawny figure approaching it without any apparent fear or hesitation. Amazingly, the sentries do not spot him.

Before any of them can run over to stop him, he stops at the gate, raises his hand and raps three times in quick succession on the metal. A slit in the metal wall opens nearby. A pair of goggle-clad eyes peer at him.

“You’re not the pizza delivery guy,” The bandit observes, almost a growl, in a bored tone with an undertone of suspicion.

“We’re here to see your leader? We got a message from Ravs,” Nilesy delivers with surprising confidence, flashing a wide smile after. The bandit regards him dumbly for three seconds before starting.

“Ravs sent you with a message? Why didn’t you say so!” The slit in the door slides shut with a clank and the ‘gate’ lowers with a mechanical grinding. “Come on in!” They say, sounding more enthusiastic than before. “Heads up, Vault Hunters coming in, they’re friendlies, pass it on!” The last part is presumably addressed to the other sentries. 

The other bandits give shouts of assent, one of them pulling out an ECHO device to radio ahead.

Xephos, Honeydew, Strife and Nanosounds exchange incredulous looks with one another. Rythian refrains from facepalming. Lalna just nervously picks at his lab coat. Lomadia just sighs as if she’d expected this to happen. Nilesy just turns around to beam at them, appearing extremely pleased with himself for taking the initiative.

Zoeya and Saberial bid them goodbye and good luck (it doesn’t escape anyone’s notice that they’re still holding hands) as the Vault Hunters, Nilesy and Lomadia enter. The gate is raised behind them once they’ve all climbed over it, careful not to let any part of themselves or their clothing get caught on the jagged, pointy edges.

The off-duty bandits inside the camp only briefly raise their heads to see who they are before going back to whatever it is they’re doing (chores, laundry, weapons maintenance; whatever standard things bandits do to occupy their spare time outside of arguing with or fighting one another).

The bandit who’d let them in points in the direction of the dam’s entrance, a study drawbridge that’s currently down. The gate is pulled up with a series of heavy, grinding sounds.

“Walk right on in and follow the hallways until you get to where the party’s at.” That done, the bandit walks back to their guard post. They flop into a collapsing deck chair, picking up their yellowing newspaper and going back to reading it.

“Uh...okay?” Lalna says. These bandits are being awfully trusting. While they’re technically not lying about having a message from Ravs, getting into the camp had been a little _too easy_.

“Party?” Strife turns to them with a bemused look on his face.

“Party,” Honeydew gravely confirms, holding a hand up to his ear as if listening for a particular series of sounds coming from the dam.

“I don’t think Ravs was joking about these bandits throwing parties,” Rythian notes as they walk across the drawbridge and into the dam, with little else in the way of options existing. 

The damp smell of wet stone and concrete pervades the air. The air itself has cooled to a tolerable chill that causes goosebumps and the barest of shivers in those lacking coats. Their footsteps echo along the corridors.

Honeydew dares to shout ‘hello’ and giggles as it’s multiplied and distorted, bouncing back to him several times over. Xephos smacks him in the arm as punishment while hissing ‘stop it’, earning a glare.

All of them expect to hear the distant crashing of water and the whine and grinding of machinery hard at work. What they get instead is the muffled sound of rock music that grows louder as they continue deeper into the dam. 

There’s not a single soul in sight until they happen upon a giant room. It’s lit up by flashing strobe lights accompanied by a rotating disco ball overhead. The music is deafening, submerging them in an alien world: bandit parties. A stage and music equipment occupies one entire wall; the rest of the space is filled with bandits, every single one of them partying hard. 

The Vault Hunters, Nilesy and Lomadia glance at each other, unsure who’s willing to plunge headfirst into the ocean of moving bodies. At the other end of the room, the most threatening looking bandit is lounging in a beanbag, just to the side of the stage: it’s the Bandit Lord they’re here to find.

Nanosounds takes the initiative, diving into the crowd, the others following suit a second later. 

She elbows her way through the crowd to cries of pain, compliments about her tattooes and requests for her ECHO profile. Ignoring all three, she finally throws herself out of the crowd and into the empty space in front of the Bandit Lord. 

The Bandit Lord is a well-built, unassuming, bearded (that’s a light brown), lightly tanned man with an beaten up electric guitar resting in his lap. As he sits up, mild interest appears on his face. There’s no doubt that sentries had let him know of their approach. 

He sets the guitar down onto a nearby stand, shoving the guitar pick in his hand into the pockets of his maroon colored jacket.

She opens her mouth but can’t hear herself speak. She sighs, realizing that the music is drowning out her words.

As if knowing this, the Bandit Lord cups his hand to his ear and mouths at her, ‘what do you want?’.

“ARE YOU THE LEADER OF THE BLOODY BANDITS?” She yells at the top of her voice, causing Lalna (who is standing next to her) to topple over in surprise and be caught by Strife, who helps him to his feet. The two move away from her.

“NAH. I’M SPARKLES, ACTING LIEUTENANT OF THE BLOODY BANDITS FOR NOW. PARVIS IS UPSTAIRS.” Sparkles gestures upwards to the ceiling.

“HE’S DEAD?” Nilesy shouts with equal gusto. Will and Lalna edge away from him as well.

“IN A SENSE, YES.” Sparkles lets out a mean snicker after.

“BY THE WAY, WHY ARE YOU YELLING?” Nilesy asks.

“YOU’RE YELLING SO I THOUGHT I’D JUST COPY YOU.”

“CAN WE TALK WHERE THERE ISN’T SO MUCH NOISE?” Nanosounds yells at the two of them.

Behind her, Lomadia decks someone with a ruthless efficiency for touching her blue-dyed hair. Honeydew is crowdsurfing with Xephos shouting and vainly attempting to get him back by elbowing through the crowd after him. Xephos trips and plunges head-first into the ocean of people with a panicked shout.

“SURE.” Sparkles turns and gestures to the band playing on the stage beside him. 

Two band members despawn their instruments, trading places with two bandits bearing similar ones. Their replacements climb up onto the stage, picking up where they’d left off in the song. The two bandits he’d gestured to hop off the stage, hauling Sparkles to his feet from the beanbag.

“WHERE’S RYTHIAN, XEPHOS AND HONEYDEW?” Nanosounds shouts, noticing the three’s absence. She can’t see Rythian anywhere. With his height, he should have stood out like a sore thumb. Is that him? He vanishes right as she sees him in the constantly moving crowd.

A second later, a chagrined Rythian comes out of a teleport next to her, holding onto both of Xephos’ and Honeydew’s arms in a vice-like grip. He lets go of the two. The two immediately clap their hands over their mouths as nausea hits (with Lalna sympathizing).

After a tense moment where the two struggle between ‘wanting to throw up’ and ‘not throw up’, the latter appears to win out. The two exhale in relief, tossing looks of gratitude at Rythian. 

“Spoilsport,” Honeydew eventually mutters under his breath.

“You are banned from crowdsurfing,” Xephos grumbles at him. “That was the worst experience of my _life_.” The two start to bicker.

“I went to get them,” Rythian explains when inquisitive looks are tossed his way.

“ALL HERE? GREAT, FOLLOW ME,” Sparkles shouts, beckoning them over.

They all follow Sparkles down a corridor, escorted by the two bandits and into a side room that appears to be a makeshift meeting room, consisting of mostly intact wooden crates piled around a scarred table propped up by an ammo crate where it’s missing a leg.

The door is closed by one of the lieutenants before they take up positions on both sides of it. The sudden silence is music to their ears. Each of them spend a few moments to soak up the silence and hoping their ears will stop ringing. The two bandits and Sparkles appear to be unbothered by the shift in environment. 

“You’d better not be thinking of moving into Sanctuary Hole,” Nilesy says the instant he feels that he can speak and can actually hear himself do so.

Sparkles gives Nilesy a quizzical look from where he’s standing. “What.”

“You know what I’m talking about, right?” Nilesy falters but draws himself up taller.

“No, I actually don’t,” Sparkles carefully says. This does not appear to reassure Nilesy. He boldly presses on.

“Parv had a deal with Ravs not to move in and since Ravs isn’t the meriff anymore, our new meriff,” Nilesy pauses to make a face and to fold his arms over his chest, now glaring at Sparkles, “Gave you bandits permission to move into Sanctuary Hole.”

“Okay, hold up, I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.” Sparkles holds up a hand. “We’d never move into Sanctuary Hole since we’re pals with Ravs. He gives us booze and in return, we don’t go anywhere near his place.”

“Makes his citizens antsy, having bandits come up so close,” notes one of the bandits standing by the door.

“Only Parvis gets visiting rights,” says the other bandit, a little enviously. “And only on Friday nights and no more than three bandits tagging along with him.”

“Thank you, Kogie and Leo,” Sparkles says, rather pointedly. He drops the pointed tone as he addresses Nilesy. “We also agreed to keep the noise level down by moving our parties deeper into the dam. All of that’s not gonna change, even if there’s a new meriff,” He softly says, putting his hand down.

“Wait, so you’ve never contacted Turps? Or voted in the election?” Nilesy unfolds his hands from his chest, his jaw set as if he’s biting back a number of scathing remarks.

“Who the fuck is Turps?” Sparkles blinks at Nilesy. “And no, we don’t usually vote since we like being on Ravs’ good side, thanks.” Nilesy whirls and head straight for the exit, some of the Vault Hunters warily stepping back to avoid being shoved out of the way.

“Nilesy,” Lomadia says with a touch of concern, putting out a hand to grab him as he stalks past her. 

He sidesteps her outstretched hand, walking up to the door. He glares at the lieutenants standing there. Kogie hurriedly opens the door for him without further prompting, letting him out into the noisy corridor.

“Where are you going?” Will shouts at his back, worry evident in his tone.

“I’m going to give Turps a piece of my mind!” With that now known, Nilesy vanishes out into the corridor.

A second later, Rythian barges out of the room after him. He has to run to catch up with Nilesy, given that he’s already almost at the room with the party going on inside of it.

“Nilesy, don’t do it.” Panting slightly, Rythian moves to block Nilesy’s path by standing in front of him.

Nilesy pauses to glare at him with narrowed eyes, seething quietly where he stands. Rythian diverts them both into an empty side room with crates, instruments and music equipment piled up to the ceiling within it.

“You give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell Ravs, who should have won fair and square.” Nilesy’s shoulders are shaking with barely suppressed anger. 

Rage doesn’t suit him, Rythian finds himself thinking, far too used to seeing the opposite. It occurs to him that he’s a little afraid of what Nilesy might truly be capable of once truly enraged.

Nilesy might not posses a Siren’s power or have deadly war machines at his disposal but he does have a razor-sharp mind and wit. On Pandora, that could be a dangerous weapon with far-reaching consequences if properly utilized (which Rythian knows all-too well).

“For one, he’ll kill Turps if you tell him?” He points out, a little hesitant out of mild fear from how Nilesy might react.

Rythian doesn’t think Turps should die over something so trivial, given the consequences of what might happen if he does. Even if Turps did cheat Ravs out of something so dear to him; the most Rythian would be willing to stoop to is beat the everloving shit out of Turps but death is overkill.

“Good riddance,” Nilesy spits out with a vehemence that matches his glare.

“Nilesy, think about it. How do you think he’d react?” Rythian pulls his scarf down to avoid softening the imploring look he gives. Barely a second passes before Nilesy speaks again, still with a venom-laced tone.

“Well, I know he’s going to get really fucking _pissed_ and then he’ll hopefully push Turps into the Caustic Caverns. And that’s _if_ he doesn’t murder Turps on the spot first.” Nilesy smirks, clearly relishing the idea.

It’s unsettling to see such an uncharacteristic expression on his face that it tugs at Rythian’s heartstrings to see him like this, to go to this extent for Ravs. And Rythian knows exactly what it feels like (and why he’s pushing back).

“And what do you think that’ll cost him?” Rythian’s voice drops to a soft murmur, like his words are meant only for Nilesy’s ears alone. “He’ll never run for meriff again.”

Nilesy’s eyebrows knit together. He opens his mouth but snaps it shut a second later, appearing to wrestle between telling Ravs or remaining silent, now properly considering the consequences of his actions for the first time since the conversation started. 

Rythian patiently awaits whatever conclusion he comes to. He’s not going to stop him if he does choose to go ahead with telling Ravs but he thinks he’s mostly prepared to deal with the fallout that’ll result from it.

“I think he still deserves to know,” Nilesy eventually mumbles, looking away, his hands clenching and unclenching as if he’s unsure of working up his anger again to attempt telling Ravs. Five seconds later, he gives a defeated sigh, his open hands falling to his side.

“Trust me, it’s for the best,” Rythian gently says, reaching over to squeeze Nilesy’s shoulder in consolation. “Let’s go back and talk to Sparkles. You can do the talking.”

“Yeah. I will.” Nilesy looks at him, managing a small, unhappy smile (but a smile, nonetheless). All rage has vanished from him. Rythian suspects it’s only hiding for the time being, until the time comes for it to be wielded again. “For Ravs.”

Rythian doesn’t know which he’s referring to, the keeping secrets from him or talking to Sparkles on his behalf, but it doesn’t matter.

\--

As an apology for wasting their time and partly because of Nilesy’s doing, Sparkles had generously assigned them a room to borrow and had given them the freedom to join the party if any of them wished to do so. 

Nilesy and Lomadia had wandered off in search of Lomadia’s rakk. Sparkles had also sworn they hadn’t seen said rakk either and pointed them in the direction of the top of the dam, just in case any of the bandits up there had spotted it. Business completed, Sparkles, Kogie and Leo had drifted off to rejoin the party.

With the Bloody Bandit representatives, Nilesy and Lomadia gone, the Vault Hunters are now left alone. Honeydew has since taken to one of the beds in the room for a midday nap. Nanosounds is continuing her letter-writing on one of the beds, giving the occasional mutter while fiddling with her ECHO device.

Xephos is tapping away at their keyboard, sitting cross-legged on a bed. They pause every now and again to cross-reference and to dig up information, liaising with a distant friend on Elpis. 

Rythian is sketching in his book with a half-broken pencil, camped out on a bed further back in the room. He glances up every now and again, erasing smooth lines to redraw them, correcting details, adding and taking away as he sees fit.

Lalna and Strife are upgrading their Loader and Atomic turret, parts and tools scattered on the floor around them. The two are up to their elbows in dirt, grease and oil but are enjoying themselves immensely, exchanging light banter in between tinkering and consulting each other for advice.

“Check this out,” Will proudly calls out to Lalna. He steps back from his turret. Lalna watches it swing around, noticing the shiny new missile launcher attached. A belt of small rockets feed into it from underneath where the digistruct modules are located. Will restores the scuffed protective panel, screwing it back into place.

“Don’t point that thing at me! What if it decides to shoot?” Lalna moves behind an inert Larry Robert, just in case. Will laughs and swings the front of the turret around with a grimy hand so that it’s facing away from Lalna.

“Relax, you’re on the whitelist so my turret won’t shoot you.” Will tilts his head. “Unless you accidentally or deliberately step in front of it,” He adds, chuckling darkly after. 

Lalna decides not to comment.

“Do your turret and Loader have an A.I. installed?” Xephos decides to ask them, having watched them for the past minute or so. They fold away their keyboard, calmly rising from the bed to wander over to Lalna and Will, hands folding behind their back.

“A.I.? No, Larry Robert’s like any other Loader, they’ve just got the basic programming that came with it.” Lalna shakes his head, then looks considerate. “I might have accidentally erased some important files, including their personality but Larry Robert’s still working just fine!”

“I don’t think my turret can run an A.I.,” Will says after a beat, turning to pick up a wrench and consider if it’s possible to install a shield, his fingers drumming along the side of his turret. “It might be worth a shot if you can get it to work somehow?” He shrugs, indicating that he couldn’t really care either way.

Xephos turns to Lalna. “Well, have you considered getting your Loader one? It might help in a fight.”

“No, not really,” He easily admits.

He’s never thought about A.I.’s before, especially for Larry Robert. They did exist but they’re incredibly rare. The chances of coming across one on Pandora are exceedingly slim. It’s a nice idea but Lalna supposes that Larry Robert’s been operating just fine without one so far.

With that, a lightbulb goes off over Xephos’ head.

“Didn’t you visit a Dahl military frigate? I’ve heard rumors about Dahl equipping their warships with A.I. but nobody’s ever been able to confirm it, what with nondisclosure agreements, secret projects and whatnot,” Xephos excitedly says, excitedly sketching in the air an imaginary box with their hands.

It’s taking them considerable willpower to resist the urge to immediately sit Will and Lalna down and detail just why A.I. are so _fascinating_. All that coding bringing an artificial being to life; what they wouldn’t give just to interact or encounter one, just once in their life. 

While Lalna had been indulgent so far, they’re sure he’s not _that_ indulgent. 

Honeydew had nodded off when they’d tried to do so with him and Xephos has an inkling Lalna (despite possessing a robot companion) wouldn’t be that interested in such a niche field. 

Will might be interested, if it weren’t for his spare time being taken up with paperwork that he’s determined to soldier through on his own. Xephos thinks he’d get through it faster with help, but he’d politely declined their offer of help in the past.

“Yeah, we did. What about it?” Lalna doesn’t quite look directly at Xephos, turning his attention back to his Loader. He seems a touch more nervous upon the mention of the frigate but they don’t notice.

“Did you see an A.I. Core or a room of sorts that looked like it might have housed one? It’s usually on the bridge, if you managed to get that far into the frigate...” Xephos would have continued, but Lalna gives a slow shake of his head.

“Ask Rythian, he did loads more exploring around the bridge than I did.” Lalna points in his direction.

Xephos heads straight for him, wasting no time in asking once they reach him. Rythian considers what they’re asking about for precisely half a minute. There’s no harm in letting them know about his observations, right?

“Yes, but it was empty. There was nothing in the room but servers and an empty slot where a core would be,” Rythian tells them in an apologetic tone. “Somebody must have removed or destroyed it a long time ago.”

That causes Xephos’ face to fall. “Oh.”

Rythian looks thoughtful, then says, “Lalna didn’t mention that the place is a bandit stronghold, so I wouldn’t go there if I were you. I can give you the details of a friend who knew that frigate, so they might be able to answer any questions you might have?”

He does not tell them that they have a prisoner who might know what happened to that A.I. Core, figuring that it’s better for Xephos to find that particular detail out in person.

“Yes, please!” Xephos eagerly says. Rythian messages them Zylus’ contact information. “Thank you!” Xephos grins, pulling out their ECHO device. They retreat to a quiet corner to call Zylus. 

Rythian’s a little sorry he won’t be around to see how that meeting goes down. He also hopes that Zylus won’t send them on a suicide mission shortly after.

While the two are busy, Lalna despawns Larry Robert, having completed his repairs and installation of the Loader’s upgrades. He ends up staring at the teleporter hanging off Rythian’s belt when his gaze idly drifts over to him once Xephos has gone off.

“Rythian?” Lalna softly calls once he’s sidled over to him.

“Yes?” Rythian looks up from his sketching to peer at him.

“Do you want me to upgrade your teleporter?” The mechanics of it seem similar to that of shields. Lalna knows from trading, discussing and sharing what he knows with Xephos about such technology during their coinciding downtimes.

He expects a firm ‘no’ from him, taking into account the last time he’d tinkered, the results had been mostly disastrous. Rythian appears to remember as well, judging by the disapproving expression that’s appeared on his face.

“You’ve been getting better at tinkering, haven't you?” Rythian gestures with a hand to where Larry Robert had stood several seconds ago.

“Well, yeah? It’s sort of my professional job, anyway, next to-” Lalna snaps his mouth shut, almost having let slip of how he’d managed to build a giant death laser that’d apparently been hijacked. He makes sure his expression is neutral. “Messing around with robots,” He hastily adds.

“I think I can trust you with basic maintenance,” Rythian says, unclipping his teleporter from his belt and tossing it over. Lalna scrambles to catch it before it can hit the floor. “It needs a new battery and a clean. Just don’t completely take it apart,” He warns.

“You won’t regret it!” Lalna beams at Rythian, who appears to flush slightly before returning to his sketchbook. 

Pleased with having a new toy to tinker with, Lalna settles on one of the nearby beds to concentrate on the delicate task of cleaning out and upgrading Rythian’s teleporter. It takes him the better part of an hour to clean, emptying the device of sand, dirt and dried, flaky residues of something he’d rather not know about. 

Upgrading is a simple matter of swapping the tech out, then going into the settings and fine-tuning them; it seems like Rythian’s gotten there first so there’s not much Lalna has to do in that regard. 

When he’s done, his back and fingers are sore but he’s proud of what he’s accomplished. He calls Rythian over to show off his handiwork.

Rythian seems pleased, testing his teleporter out by teleporting halfway across the room and back (startling Xephos, Will and Nanosounds in the process and causing Lalna to laugh). Lalna also informs him that he’d upgraded the range on top of the battery. 

Apparently, the teleporter’s default range had been set to the minimum distance so Lalna had input the maximum distance possible. That’d caused Rythian to look embarrassed; he hadn’t known about that particular setting, too cautious about tampering with his teleporter out of fear of breaking it. 

Lalna guesses that he’d had the same issue with his technical, nursing a suspicion that he’s not that acquainted with machines or technology. Or he just hates routine maintenance.

“It didn’t come with an instruction manual, I’ll have you know!” Rythian claims while Lalna and the others crack up.

“It’s your own teleporter and you didn’t know!” Lalna wheezes in between bouts of laughter. 

Rythian had retreated to one of the beds, huffily turning his back on them. Lalna knows he’ll eventually come around, though.

Now sufficiently tired, having wiped his hands clean and packed up his tools, Lalna picks one of the cleaner beds, settling on it with a creak of bedsprings. He toes off his boots, dreading rest. 

He’s too exhausted to too stay awake but too worried about what awaits him when he closes his eyes but he can’t put it off any longer. After a moment, he lies down, curling up into a small ball, his eyes drifting shut the moment his head hits the grey, lumpy pillow. 

On the bed to his right, Honeydew lets out a loud snore and rolls over.

\--

The sound of laughter is loud in his ears, so familiar and mocking that Lalna instantly recognizes who it belongs to. He looks up, dreading what’ll meet him.

He’s back on the frigate, cowering against the wall, the fingers of his metal arm twitching madly as he tries to stifle the impulse to pull a gun (any gun, _even the Bane_ will do) but he knows how this will play out.

He tries to stop the motion of raising his arm but it’s like he’s moving through molasses. The grenade digistructs in his hand, already priming. His hand spasms, jerking the artificial muscles into motion, catapulting the grenade through the air from his hand. 

Time snaps back to normal as the grenade ricochets around the room.

Lalna knows the sequence of events off by heart now: Daltos rolls out of the way and gets to his feet, shoots him a confused look and starts laughing. It’s futile to tell him to move, because that’s not how things had happened.

He closes his eyes against the crackling and flashes of blue and white light once the grenade goes off. The lightning flashes into his vision, even when his eyes are squeezed shut to the point of also seeing imaginary shapes in the safety of his self-imposed darkness.

There’s screaming this time. When it starts, Lalna curls up into himself and _wants out_. He finds himself crying (again) out of terror, shame and blame, each of them conflicting, amassing into a giant convoluted mess of emotions tearing him apart from the inside. 

Tears are running down his cheeks, driving the emotional stake home into his being. Whatever words he can finally say come out broken, almost incoherent between his sobs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just _please stop screaming_.”

When the screaming doesn’t stop, Lalna finds himself crawling through the dying lighting towards Daltos. He somehow rolls him onto his back. He can only think of sweet silence, wanting it so _badly_ that without any further thought, he reaches down and sticks the fingers of his left hand straight into Daltos’ chest.

There’s hardly any resistance at all, just the vague, phantom feeling of his fingers moving past layers of cloth, organs, tissue, muscle and bone like they’ve liquefied with a consistency nearing that of thin air. He can actually feel Daltos’ insides move around his hand with every breath he struggles to take.

Daltos manages a choked gasp of pain, violently thrashing once, his head falling back, eyes rolling up (to the point where whites of his eyes appear) before they close.

His fingers clench and close on either side of his body, his hands shaking as if he’d like to shove Lalna away but pain could be a powerful deterrent (and tool).

Lalna hates Daltos for making him do this but _loathes_ himself especially for resorting to such a painful, cowardly method of shutting someone up, drawing out their suffering (and some small, twisted part of him relishes the power he has in doing so). 

Tears continue running down his cheeks, down his neck and soaking his shirt; he can just barely taste salt in them when some of them dribble into his mouth as he’s unable to wipe them off his face, too scared to withdraw or raise his hands.

He especially didn’t think he had the capacity within himself to be this cruel. It’s as if he’s proving himself even more wrong with every nightmare. In another one, he’d strangled Daltos, but that had ended especially badly.

He’d found himself being thrown off the roof of the frigate to the sound of that same laughter. He hadn’t died straightaway from the fall, only to be torn apart by a flock of metal birds with beaks studded with human teeth, the whites of it standing out against their grey, metallic wings. 

When he’s awake, the sight of anything with wings (rakks especially) makes him flinch.

That said, there’s blissful silence, but only for five seconds. 

Daltos opens his mouth; before he can start screaming again, Lalna rips out his still-beating heart with a wet, squelching and visceral sound. Proper silence, at last. Daltos harshly recoils like he’s just been shot point-blank with a shotgun, then goes deathly still on the floor.

Bright red blood gurgles, starting to fill up the empty, gaping cavity in his chest, soaking his jacket and the floor underneath him as well as it overflows.

 _How can someone bleed that much_ , but Lalna already knows (in fact, he doesn’t have to think all that hard about how, actually). His own heart is racing, a nonstop drumming that’s loud in his ears.

There’s no silence, just the steady sound of a heart still somehow beating, not matching his own heartbeat. The heart itself is mesmerizing to watch beat. Blood drips down from its severed aorta and veins onto the floor, trying to futilely squeeze blood to a body it’s no longer attached to.

Morbid curiosity overrides everything else, keeping him from breaking down, drying his tears, numbing him with an anaesthesia that leaves him awake, alert and pliant. There’s the awareness of what he’s done as being ‘wrong’ but on Pandora, that doesn’t matter, not anymore.

Curiosity yanks on the strings to his limbs, a deranged puppeteer demanding him to obey its irrational impulse. It compels him to put his cheek to to the heart. 

He smears blood that’s cooling (but still warm), smelling of bitter iron, across his cheek in the process. He listens, the sound comforting but the beat is fast, _far too fast_ as the heart is too hopped up on terror (he’s not sure if it’s his own or Daltos’ terror driving it to such a frenetic pace).

Something bites him on the ear, hard enough for him to feel blood beading along the skin that forms the curve of his ear. He starts, drawing back with muted surprise and glances down at the heart in his red hand. 

There are countless faces on the heart, each of them moving, writhing and pinched in expressions of agony, all of them struggling. He knows those faces; there’s faces of every bandit he’s ever put a bullet through. Teeth prick his hand as the mouths on the underside of the heart bite him.

Much to his horror, the faces start to speak in a monotone, detailing their lives from birth to death that he doesn’t want to hear-Lalna _crushes_ the heart in his hand, causing one final scream to tear loose from Daltos.

Someone is touching him, shaking him roughly by a shoulder and- _he wakes_. 

He’s sitting up in the bed he’d fallen asleep in, too terrified to realize where he is, boxed into a space too small for him until someone says his name, hyperventilating, unable to take a proper breath and on the verge of passing out-

“Lalna, it’s okay, you’re safe,” Rythian murmurs in a gentle tone. He latches onto that familiar voice, using it as a lifeline.

The space swells, expanding to give Lalna room to take slower breaths, also drawing the curtain back on his surroundings. That’s right, he’s in the Bloodshot Stronghold, not on the frigate, definitely not relieving the memory of that disastrous mission.

Rythian is sitting next to him on the bed, his added weight barely dipping the bed where he sits. His purple scarf is pooled around his neck, showing off the faint scars around his mouth and the tired, drawn lines of his face. The other Vault Hunters are nowhere to be seen. 

The hand on his shoulder belongs to Rythian, he realizes. Said hand moves to his back, rubbing small, slow circles, the touch warm even through his shirt. Lalna feels like a small child again, comforted and reassured by his parents after a bad nightmare once he’d climbed into their bed.

He swallows, looking down at his hands, expecting to find the messy remains of his nightmare there. To his immense relief, his hands are mostly clean. There’s just the stubborn smears from tinkering remaining. No blood.

Lalna doesn’t trust himself to speak, focusing on taking deep,. shuddering breaths that fill his lungs fit to bursting, his head clearing with every single one. 

Rythian stops rubbing circles on his back, reaching for his digistruct module to spawn a canteen, holding it out. There’s the sound of water sloshing around in it. Realizing he’s thirsty, he takes it without argument.

“Thanks,” Lalna rasps (cringing at how dry his voice has become), taking a much-needed swing from it once he uncaps it.

The water is cold, refreshing and another comfort. He hasn’t realized he’s that thirsty, but sips rather than draining it in one go as to not cough and hiccup, embarrassing himself further. Lalna caps and moves to return it to Rythian, his thirst sated for the time being.

“Keep it, I have more,” Rythian casually tells him.

“Oh.” Lalna lets the canteen rest in his lap, toying with the worn leather strap, his fingertips running over the many cracks and crevices. It’s more to give his hands something to do, working off the restless energy and adrenaline still running through him from the nightmare.

His eyes meet the cord of the trinket dangling around Rythian’s neck. He wonders if the leather for the canteen and trinket had come from the same creature that he’d killed and skinned to obtain it.

“Are you okay?” Rythian peers at him, mild concern written all over his face. He turns his head away to the corner of the room.

Lalna hopes he hadn’t been screaming in his sleep and woken up Rythian. He’s sure he’s not that far gone but he’s still ashamed that a simple nightmare had rattled him so badly. 

“I’m fine. I just had a nightmare.” He doesn’t see any point in lying that much, at least.

Rythian regards him with a sideways glance as if he doesn’t quite want to meet Lalna’s eyes directly. “Do you want to talk about it?” He says it like he’s overstepping a line, reluctant and expression neutral.

Lalna shakes his head, despite wanting very much to do the opposite. He’s worried that the other Vault Hunters, upon finding out, will laugh at him, talk behind his back, mock him and just like that, he’ll never open up to them about anything, ever again. 

Once bitten, twice shy, as the saying goes.

Another memory, a more recent one, drifts into Lalna’s mind. “Shouldn’t we talk about yours?” 

Rythian’s head turns to sharply regard him with an expression that Lalna’s never seen before. If he had to put a word to it, he would have said Rythian looked ‘afraid’ but the expression has vanished when he blinks.

It must have been his imagination; Rythian wouldn’t let a dream rattle him that badly (or so Lalna would like to believe). Rythian opens his mouth to argue.

Before he can, Lalna shuts him down with two words as he puts away the canteen and pulls himself towards the edge of the bed to grab his boots.

“You promised.”

Now Rythian just looks deeply troubled, shifting on the bed, his hand picking at the stray threads on the sheets. That makes Lalna feel like a giant asshole, guilty for bringing it up. He ties up the laces to his boots, not moving from the edge of the bed.

More than once, he’d woken up in the night to go pee, only to see Rythian toss and turn where he’s sleeping, restless and uneasy. 

When he comes back to the camp, Rythian’s usually awake, exhausted despite having slept and seeming all-too alert, always scanning the shadows, never exposing his back to the open if he can help it.

If it’s particularly bad, Rythian turns to the flask he carries on him. He takes a few mouthfuls and waits for the alcohol to kick in. When he sleeps then, it’s peaceful but has the tendency to leave him with a vicious hangover that makes him grouchier than usual and sometimes, unpleasant to deal with.

Lalna feels like it’s sort of his fault for indirectly doing that to him, ever since Rythian had promised to take less watches but it’d clearly come at a personal cost: the nightmares come calling often and he can’t afford to be hungover all the time.

The three of them know that Rythian can’t keep doing this to himself. Deep down, Lalna knows that he’s picking on him to hide his own issues but they can’t afford to lose Rythian, not again, especially to his own demons.

“Will Strife and Nanosounds should probably be here for this,” Rythian finally says in a somber, resigned voice. Lalna messages them and within ten minutes, the two walk in, looking worried.

They sit on the bed opposite them as Lalna fidgets with his lab coat. There’s no way to guess how this will play out.

“Take your time,” Will says. That earns him a grateful nod while Nanosounds crosses her arms over her chest, clearly impatient for Rythian to start but nonetheless, holds her tongue.

“You know I have nightmares,” Rythian starts but abruptly stops as if having second thoughts about talking. He finally continues after a ten second pause, speaking in a way that’s slightly rushed like he wants to get it over and done with, “I get them a lot and there’s nothing much I can do about them. It gets worse when I’m stressed, exhausted or upset.”

“Why do you have them?” Lalna dares to ask, secretly fearing that he’s going to stop talking if they don’t prompt him to.

“They were a result of Vault Hunting,” Rythian says, vaguely, much more slowly. “The Vaults aren’t all filled with loot.” He stops talking to look down at his bandaged hands that are now resting in his lap. His fingers fold into his palms, nails pinching them like he’s trying to will himself to keep talking. “I’m still recovering from the last time I opened a Vault.”

“What’s inside the Vaults, if there’s no loot to be found?” Strife inquires. There’s something in his tone that lets him know that he doesn’t have to answer since he looks a little ill, paler than before despite the brown of his skin.

“Monstrosities.” Rythian shudders (and there is proper, honest-to-god _fear_ in his eyes, barely present but only Lalna can see it, fully knowing what it is). “It’s why I’m not exactly eager to go chasing after Vaults.”

“We’ll kick their ass,” Nanosounds says, firmly. It’s the first thing that she’s said since the conversation has started. Lalna glances at her, mouthing at her to ‘shut up’, but she ignores him like he’s invisible.

“Nanosounds, you’ve never been in a Vault, have you?” There’s an razor-sharp edge to Rythian’s voice where there wasn’t one before.

“Nope, but I want to.” None of them miss the eagerness in her voice.

“No, you _don’t_ ,” Rythian's voice rises above a murmur as he says that.

“We can take whatever’s in the Vaults!” Nanosounds stubbornly points out. “You have me, a Siren, Lalna with his Loader that we can load up with missiles and Strife with his overpowered turret!” She impatiently gestures to each of them in turn before her gaze fully settles on Rythian. Her voice drops to a soft, mocking murmur. “Unless you’re not actually a Vault Hunter?”

“I am, but I don’t have to like being one!” Rythian snaps barely a second later, color rising his cheeks.

Lalna’s gaze travels to his hands, one of which has curled into a tight fist, causing the color around his knuckles to pale. He wants to agree with Rythian, to tell him that he’s of the same mind but it’s like he’s watching from the wrong side of the one-way glass, unable to do or say anything that might help.

“But you do know where they are, right?” She says with such false sweetness that catches and drags on Rythian’s nerves like the coarsest of sandpaper, infuriating him.

He grits his teeth, willing himself to remain calm before he can trust himself to speak (don’t yell at her, it’ll just make things worse, stay calm, people can be reasoned with, he doesn’t need to resort to _shooting_ to make a point and look how well that’d turned out in the past).

‘Do something’, Will desperately mouths at Lalna, looking between the other two with a look of impending doom. Lalna shrugs, gesturing helplessly, unsure to say or do lest the situation goes even more downhill with their interference. Nanosounds keep her gaze trained on Rythian.

“I’m not leading you to the Vaults, they’re better off hidden and closed,” Rythian says. There’s no room for argument in his tone as he looks straight at her with a look that could have caused the Dust to freeze over instantly.

“You’re just saying that because you’re not strong enough,” Nanosounds retorts, her lip curling, unimpressed with his reluctance and reservations about the Vaults.

She doesn’t understand why he hasn’t conquered his fear yet; she guesses a significant amount of time has passed since he last opened one. _Enough time to her_ , at any rate.

In her eyes, the Vaults present a worthy challenge. The Vaults holds knowledge about her heritage and the chance to fight for it. She’ll face down whatever is inside a Vault and she’s confident she’ll _win_. 

How could she not? She is a _Siren_ and Sirens didn’t just roll over and accept death, not without fighting tooth and nail to stay alive, long enough to make off with the prize. It seems like she’s perhaps mistaken about Rythian being able to do the same or wanting to. 

Their definitions of what makes a Vault Hunter couldn’t be any more different.

The moment her words have left her mouth, Rythian goes as still as a statue, not daring to breathe, not daring to feel, not daring to _think_.

Strife and Lalna’s mouths have fallen open in shock. They look between the two, not daring to speak, too unsure of what will happen if they do.

Lalna thinks of reaching over to touch Rythian but he is scared Rythian will turn to stone and shatter into a million pieces under his hand, rendered too fragile in the moment.

An eternity of oppressive silence unfolds, stifling and heavy. It’s eventually broken by the sound of Rythian rising from the bed he’s sitting on with a sudden squeak of rusty bedsprings. 

Without looking at any of them, he turns and strides out of the room, his face blank.

The instinctive impulse to teleport so they can’t follow him is powerful. It’s so very tempting but he finally pushes it out of his mind, remembering the incident on the crane. He doesn’t want to confirm old suspicions about what might be going on with his body; hence why he’d had Lalna fix his teleporter so he could avoid doing precisely that. 

He also doesn't want to incite chaos if he does pop up somewhere with people and causing an alarm. They’re in bandit territory and bandits tended to react badly in the ways of things suddenly popping up by immediately shooting at them.

He messages Teep, unable to feel like he can bother Ravs (having asked enough from him already and given almost nothing in return). He can’t help but cryptic with his wording and tone; he’ll save explaining what’s going on for when he meets up with them. 

Rythian pulls his scarf up over his lower face, tucking the end in, schooling his face into a neutral expression as best as he can when he’s positively _seething_ on the inside.

He’s furious with himself for being unable to defend himself, partly ashamed because what Nanosounds had said might have a grain of truth to it and at the same time, resentful that she’d dared speak to him like that. He’s also bitter because he couldn’t deny it. 

Nanosounds can’t say that without knowing what had happened in the Vault he’d opened-a familiar sensation looms at the edge of his vision like a drop of ink saturating the edge of a page. He throws up mental walls, _refusing_ to be dragged into the past at that exact second and proving her right. 

_He is not weak._

All of it just proves one thing: his gut had been correct to be apprehensive about making such rushed and ill promises. In the future, he’ll see to it that he’s not going to make that same mistake again.

Once Rythian’s gone (his anger swirling in his wake like an invisible cloud of miasma), Lalna turns on Nanosounds. Some small part of him begs him to keep his mouth shut, but he can’t, not after what had just happened.

Doe he regret not taking sides? Yes. He also regrets bringing up the subject in the first place.

The same part of him that enjoys the nightmare and encourages him to fully embrace becoming a Vault Hunter sneers ‘coward’. At the same time, it pushes him to provoke Nanosounds for the resulting fallout.

“Why would you say that?” He’s almost shouting, only remembering to only just lower his voice in time as to not draw attention to their small corner of the Bloodshot Stronghold. “He was telling us just like he’d promised and you had to fucking _open_ your mouth-”

“He’s had more than enough time to sort out his _issues_.” Nanosounds wrinkles her nose, almost sneering but somehow holding back in doing so.

“And you need to sort out yours!” Lalna snaps at her. “You didn’t have to say anything, you could have just kept your mouth shut and listened!”

He gets up, glaring at her. Never mind that she could probably throw him through a wall, he’s so _angry_ at her that he’s forgotten his fear of her. Rage curls his hands for him, drawing them up to his sides.

She doesn’t miss that, getting up from the bed as well, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Were you expecting me to give him a hug, tell him that it’s _okay_? Coddle and pity him? Sit around and wait for him to get better when he’ll never-”

“You just had to listen! That’s apparently too much for you, always so sure of yourself and expecting people to just always do whatever you want them to-” The words spill from his mouth as he dredges up old hurts, not caring if they’re rapidly veering into dangerous waters with every spiteful jab.

“He wasn’t going to ever tell us _anything_ about Vaults, if you hadn’t noticed-” Nanosounds tries to reign the thread of the conversation in but it’s slipping from her grasp as he finds more traction and the confidence with every word.

“You’re always right and everyone else is wrong-” Lalna does not say that he’s fine with never having to come across a Vault if he’ll come out exactly like Rythian.

“That has nothing to do with this!”

“Yes, it does!”

‘No, it doesn’t! What about you, you’re always such a great big help in a fight-”

“This isn’t getting anywhere-” Will starts, finally deciding to intervene, having kept hold of the thread the entire time and tugging sharply on it to try to reign it back in.

“ _Fuck off_ , Strife, some help you were back there,” Lalna finds himself saying sarcastically. Hurt flashes across Will’s face, causing a stab of guilt to lodge in his chest. Will looks like he’s just been slapped in the face. 

Knowing he’s stepped over a line he shouldn’t have, Lalna opens his mouth to apologize but Will holds up a hand (and drops the thread that’s now beyond salvaging and his responsibility).

“Nope, it’s fine, I’ll go. You two talk about whatever you need to,” He says, tone frosty. “Since you two clearly don’t need my help or input to resolve whatever _issues_ you _both_ have.” 

He walks out of the room, his back straight, such a mirror of Rythian (but so much more self-possessed, his anger self-contained and drawn around him like a protective cloak).

After a moment where Lalna and Nanosounds glare at each other but choose to stay silent, Lalna chooses to leave the room first, unable to handle being in the same room as her.

He breaks into a jog, hoping to catch up with Rythian, provided he hasn’t left the dam yet. He runs into Nilesy and Lomadia, asking them about him, dodging their questions about why he looks upset.

\--

Will leaves Rythian a message that if he wants to talk, he’s free to come and find him. As an afterthought, he includes his location data. He doesn’t expect him to respond straightaway, taking off his sunglasses once he’s done.

Tired of people, especially his teammates, he scrubs a hand over his face, only sorry that he hadn’t intervened sooner, silently cursing at himself for defaulting to the role of passive observer in times of group conflict.

When he looks up, he finds that he’s walked back into the giant room serving as the center of the party that’d been going on earlier.

Where it’d once been packed to every walls with people and the sound of all-too loud music, the room is now empty with a foreboding silence. Even the band playing is absent from the stage. It seems like it’d been abandoned in the middle of a song, judging by the instruments audio equipment still left out. 

Upon closer inspection, everything is still switched on and plugged in. He knows because when he reaches out to pluck a guitar’s string and hearing the single, lonely note that drifts up from one of the speakers.

Strife takes a wary step back and slides the sunglasses back into place on his forehead. It’s then that he notices the distant sound of a commotion (in the form of murmuring voices) echoing down from one of the many passageways out of the room.

Curious, Strife goes in search of the commotion. He finally emerges into the daylight, blinking, only to see a volt of Buzzards hovering overhead, a familiar logo emblazoned across their sides: a lightning bolt cracking a Buzzard in half.

The Blitzkrieg Blighters are here. Strife curses under his breath, barely managing to stop the automatic instinct to draw a gun and start shooting. They haven’t noticed him yet, thankfully.

One of the lieutenants of the Bloody Bandits standing close by does notice him, however. Strife recognizes him as one of the two who’d escorted them to the meeting room alongside Sparkles.

“Follow me, I’ll hide you,” Kogie whispers, beckoning him over, throwing a nervous glance upwards. Strife edges over, not taking his eyes off the Buzzards that lurk overheard like predatory, metal vultures.

“Why are you being so nice to us despite being bandits?” Strife whispers to him, curious. Most people who weren’t civilians typically treated Vault Hunters as dispensable freelancers or bullymong refuse. Bandits tended to fall into the latter camp.

Kogie shakes his head, sheepishly admitting, “Despite what Parv claims, we’re not that mean, like other bandits are.”

“Never thought I’d ever meet bandits that are nice to Vault Hunters,” Strife says, suppressing the urge to chuckle at how things had taken a turn in his life.

Kogie leads him behind a stack of destroyed cars, towards a row of lockers under a overhang made out of a piece of curved, rusting metal that’d once belonged to a spaceship.

“Here, you can put these on and hide amongst us,” Kogie says, handing him a Nomad’s coat after digging around in one of the lockers for it. 

Will deadeyes it, remembering what one of the other Vault Hunters (he refuses to think specifically who) had predicted prior to sneaking into the frigate. 

It’d been shortly before he’d been mistakenly accosted as an accountant by bandits and escorted away to crunch numbers (which he’d actually done; he never left a job incomplete or half-assed if he could help it).

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

Kogie makes an impatient noise, shoving it into his hands. It’s followed by a Nomad’s wide brimmed hat. “Just take it, I have to go and back up Sparkles!” He calls out over his shoulder before he rushes off.

Will is torn between wanting to find out what’s going on and staying anonymous or buggering off back to the relative safety of Sanctuary Hole and get help. He can’t resist not being in on the situation, so he pulls on the rusty colored coat, buttoning it up.

Something inside of him affectionately calls him a ‘no-good meddler who couldn’t help sticking his nose where it didn’t belong and who couldn’t say no to a job, lucrative or not’. He wholeheartedly agrees or he wouldn’t have been on Pandora for this long. 

Not that he regrets it but there’s times (this being one of them) where he’d come close to wishing he’s anywhere but here.

The coat smells clean and recently laundered despite his initial expectations (remembering the Sheriff’s Posse’s outfit he had to don back in Lynchwood). The coat is baggy, the sleeves hanging over his hands but he leaves them as they are to add to the element of disguise, feeling déjà vu.

He plops the oversized, mushroom-shaped hat on his head, heading out in the direction that Kogie had dashed off in. There’s some small consolation in that the coat only comes down to his ankles, so he doesn’t have to fear tripping and falling flat onto his own face.

Will comes across a sizeable crowd of a hundred or so nervous bandits loosely gathered, Sparkles at the front and Kogie and Leo on either side of him. 

The three of them look worried, their tense frames radiating a wary skittishness that tells him how serious the situation is. Sparkles has his mouth set in a thin, determined line but the worry is there in his eyes.

The Goliath lieutenant from Blitzkrieg Blighters steps onto the dam from the two Buzzards bearing them, straightening up after. The two machines drift up to rejoin the volt.

The metal, crooked spikes on the Goliath’s outfit glint in the sunlight; they cut a wide, imposing figure that’s helped by being at least three heads taller than Sparkles. Their coat billows in the wind stirring up, also ruffling Sparkles’ hair and the black and white bandanna tied around his neck. 

The Goliath’s metal armor clinks as they leisurely walk towards him, stopping a metre or so away.

Will wonders how Daltos had managed to keep such a threatening bandit in line. It then dawns on Will that since he’s no longer around, there’s nobody to keep that many or such dangerous bandits in check, a potential series of drastic consequences as a result of that one mission.

He swears under his breath, kicking himself for not having seen it sooner.

“Ready to hand over the dam?” The Goliath says to Sparkles, careful to enunciate each word loudly and clearly. “You got three hours to grab everything and shove off. Whatever’s left behind is ours.”

“Whatever happened to Daltos?” Sparkles asks, craning his head up to meet the Goliath’s eyes through the slit in their horned helmet. “He agreed that we could keep the dam so long as we kept out of his way and kept to ourselves. No more fighting between our clans, he said,” He adds, stressing the last sentence.

“He ain’t around anymore,” The Goliath says, after a beat. “We’re just following orders he left behind,” They add without an ounce of sympathy in their tone.

“He’s not dead, is he?” Kogie and Leo exchange alarmed looks behind Sparkles’ back.

“And where’s Parvis?” The Goliath counters.

“He’s...around,” Sparkles carefully says with a neutral expression at the direct line of questioning.

“He should come out so we can talk,” The Goliath casually says, looking away from Sparkles to glance over the crowd of Bloody Bandits as if expecting Parv to step out and announce his presence right that second.

“That’s not possible,” Sparkle firmly insists.

“Doesn’t matter, we’ll find him eventually once the dam is ours- _you_!” The Goliath booms at someone in the crowd, raising a finger to point, then lowers it. Strife notices there’s an odd angle to said finger as if it’d been broken and hadn’t healed right.

Stife glances in the direction of the Goliath’s pointing and inwardly groans. 

Nanosounds is standing at the edge of the crowd, frowning as she takes in the situation. The Goliath pushes past Sparkles, causing Leo and Kogie to scramble out of their way as they stride over to where Nanosounds is standing.

The crowd of bandits parts to let them through, muttering nervously amongst themselves, word of a possible attack spreading. Some of the bandits throw pinched, resentful and fearful looks up at the machines of death looming above them, making them feel like prey penned in.

“Where is he?” The Goliath peers down at Nanosounds, who looks unbothered at being addressed so rudely.

“Who?” Nanosounds frown deepens as if she’s never heard that question before in her entire life.

“Daltos. You know who he is. We saw you make off with him, so don’t bother trying to hide what you did,” The Goliath accuses, irritation creeping into their tone.

“I don’t know where he is,” She says as if she couldn’t care less with an impudent roll of her shoulders accompanying her lie.

“I don’t like liars. You know what happens to liars? Liars get their tongues ripped out and it’s fed to the skags,” The Goliath says, their voice dropping dangerously low, promising violence. “Where. Is. He?”

“You deaf or something? I’m not repeating myself,” Nanosounds retorts, examining her nails. That causes the Goliath to raise a hand. Her eyes flick up to the raised hand before back down to her nails but Will sees that she’s ready to react, her body tensing up.

“Stop!” Sparkles steps forwards before anything can happen.“You can’t fight on the dam, it’ll fall apart, so why not use one of our cage match rooms instead?”

“You didn’t us tell you were hiding a Vault Hunter,” The Goliath observes, clearly annoyed but they sound thoughtful with the next sentence. “But you’re right, we can’t damage the dam. Daltos specified as much because he’s nice like that.” 

The Goliath gives a slight shiver with that last sentence; Will doubts everybody else saw it as well, not observing them as closely as he is.

Sparkles nervously shifts on the spot. “They were just delivering a message from Ravs. They were going to fuck off after but bullied us into letting them stay.” He casts a downward glance, sheepish, the very picture of spinelessness that second.

Will is reminded of what Kogie’s words. There might just be more to these bandits than what meets the eye, he thinks. They wouldn’t have lasted so long on Pandora otherwise.

The Goliath gives a derisive snort. “I’ll kill them and then you’d better be ready to move out of the dam. Let’s get this over and done with.” Above him, a collective agreement breaks out amongst the bandits on the Buzzards still circling overhead. 

The Goliath and Sparkles look to Nanosounds for her answer (but they know she has very little choice in the matter).

“I can take you on in a cage match any day,” Nanosounds boasts, seeing little reason to turn down a chance to scrap, given that she’s still pissed off about her fellow Vault Hunters. As far as she knows, they’ve all buggered off and are no help at all, which is fine by her.

She’s also confident about winning, even if she’s never been in a cage match before. Whatever it is, she’ll quickly figure it out.

“Fair enough,” Sparkles agrees with an unhappy look, gesturing to Kogie. 

Kogie moves to lead the Goliath into the dam to the aforementioned room. Some of the Goliath’s bandits (thirty in all) jump down from the Buzzards to follow the crowd that’s beginning to move inside. 

The rest of Blitzkrieg Blighters remain in the air, wary about following the others into enemy territory. Some of them shout down crass jeers and taunts, causing some of the Bloody Bandits to gesture rudely and shout back crude things in response. Leo moves to defuse the stragglers. 

Not wanting to stick around in the open, Will ducks his head, pulling his borrowed hat down low over his eyes before stepping sideways and into the crowd making their way indoors.

Nanosounds sees Sparkles frantically gesturing to her. She walks over, unsure about what he wants. “Yes?”

“Please don’t lose, we’d rather not lose our home and well, we can fight these guys if we have to,” Sparkles whispers to her. “Come on, I’ll take you to the room.”

“I won’t lose,” She vows as she’s looking at him straight in the eye. She doesn’t mention that she has a hard time believing that these bandits can fight Daltos’ ones, given how easily Sparkles had caved.

\--

The cage match room is nestled deeper within the dam. The path leading to it is lit up by makeshift lights (technical headlights, mining lanterns, battery operated flashlights, apparently whatever bandits could get some sort of light out of) duct-taped to the exposed wiring threaded along the ceiling. 

The dull concrete, maze-like and identical-looking tunnels constantly drip with water. A molding, damp air constantly pervades Nanosounds’ senses as she follows Sparkles and Leo. The walk to the room is not filled with silence. 

It’s kept at bay by constant, excited whisperings all around her from the following bandits. Some of them wish her luck in the upcoming match as she passes them.

Sparkles and Leo talk in hushed tones ahead of her that she doesn’t pay much attention to. Every now and again, Sparkles gestures impatiently while Leo nods, appearing to take it all in. They stop and separate without a further word when they reach the room at last.

Bandits belonging to both gangs filter into the circular room from another tunnel on the other side of the room. Nanosounds stops in her tracks in the doorway. In the center of the room is a cube, every face consisting of a chain link fence patched by banged up metal plates of varying sizes and materials in random places. 

Barbed wiring tops the cube. A beaten and battered sign dangles crookedly just under the barbed wiring. The sentence ‘NO CLIMBIN’ ON CUBE’ is painted on it bright red, runny script. Welded metal plates stuck together, the entire shape cut in a rough circle, forms the flooring in the cube; what the plates don’t take up, more chain link fencing forms the rest of the flooring.

If she’s not careful, she could easily put her boot through a gap and get stuck, leaving herself open to attack.

The cube itself is fascinating; the Bloody Bandits must have been incredibly bored to construct something like that and yet, it’s impressive in its own right. She might even call it ‘creative’, had she been more artistically inclined. 

She’s more worried about the sound coming from under the cube. She looks down at the source, eyes drawn to it. The sound of rushing water thunders up from a giant whirlpool under the cube. White foam licks at the sides of the pool as it constantly churns and gurgles, vanishing into an unseen drain.

Where it leads, she doesn’t know but falling in would certainly almost lead to instant death (either by being crushed against the walls or eventually drowning, whichever one comes first). Rusty, open pipes leading from elsewhere dumps more water into the whirlpool, keeping it alive.

Two chain link fence doors serves as entryways into the cube. At one of them, the Goliath lieutenant stoops, barely managing to fit through. They straighten up and walk into the very center, never taking their eyes off her the entire time.

Leo bolts the door and backs off to join Kogie at a stage nearby. With a resigned air, the two digistruct instruments and take their places, awaiting Sparkles.

There are two rows serving as audience stands around the edge of the room. Every single empty spot is being filled as more bandits trickle in, none of them wanting to miss the match. Even the rafters of the room (pipes crisscrossing over with planks laid out on top to form rickety platforms) are packed with spectators jostling for the best view. 

Talking, bets, jeers and chatter lend an odd, harsh background noise on top of the sound of crashing, murky water underfoot.

Sparkles leads her across the railless walkway to the cube, holding the door open for her. She strides in. Her heart is beginning to hammer in thrill of the coming fight but she’s filled with a sense of anticipatory calm that refuses to be overtaken by nervousness that she may not exactly know what she’s doing or getting into.

“Good luck,” He murmurs, adding, “And pay close attention to the rules.”

“Thanks,” She replies, listening to him close the door and slide the bolt shut. She’s momentarily puzzled by his last sentence but discards it from her mind.

Nanosounds spies him walking around the cube to climb onto the nearby stage to join Kogie and Leo, digistructing a microphone. 

He taps it twice, causing a high-pitched sound to ring out from the loudspeakers placed up high. Bandits standing closest to the loudspeakers wince and clap their hands over their ears. Sparkles tosses the microphone to Kogie, who starts to speak.

“Welcome, bandits and distinguished guests, there are only three rules to a cage match! The first is that no guns or shields are allowed or you’ll be instantly disqualified.” That’s almost lost to a loud groan of disappointment that ripples through both gangs.

Once it dies out, Kogie tosses the microphone to Leo. Nanosounds unclips her shield, despawning it, her hands dropping to her sides after. The sight of the whirlpool is still fresh in her mind.

The Goliath flexes both hands, cracking their knuckles; she knows they’re trying to unnerve her before the fight starts. It’s not going to work on her, she’s seen their type before. She just holds her head up high and listens to the rules, always keeping her eye on the Goliath, ready to react the moment they move.

“The second rule is no healing items!” That rule is met with universal approval. “There’ll only be one round and it’ll go on for as long as it has to. There are no time-outs or tagging out!” Leo passes the microphone to Sparkles.

“The last rule is that only one of you can leave the Cube alive! I’m Sparkles and I’ll be your referee. If I see any cheating or rule-breaking, both of you are instantly dumped into the whirlpool!” He pauses to take a deep breath before bellowing, “NOW FIGHT!”

It’s almost drowned out by the sounds of Kogie and Leo striking up an energetic, thumping riff as the bandits let out a spectacular wave of noise that almost drowns out the whirlpool below.

The Goliath is already charging at her before Sparkles has finished speaking, the patchy flooring shaking under their charge (and at the back of her mind, she hopes the floor holds, not fancying a swim).

She sidesteps them at the last moment. They miss her by a few centimetres but she’s misjudged; one of the spikes on their pauldrons gouges a deep line in her right arm. She shrieks in pain, clapping a hand over the wound.

She ignores the booing and the cheering rising from the bandits at sustaining the first wound within the first five seconds of the match. The Goliath rebounds off the fence as she whirls around to face them, a second too late. They slam into her, throwing her off her feet.

The impact tosses her several metres away. She comes down hard on her knees and on one of her hands she’d thrown out to catch herself; she greedily sucks air into her lungs, almost having lost most of it from the force of the slam and from her botched landing. 

She can feel the bolts and nuts of the floor digging into her hand and knees. Fuck, she’s not backing out now, unwilling to go down without a fight. She climbs to her feet, her footing unsteady as the Goliath circles her with a smug air.

“Should have just told me where Daltos was so we could go fetch him and you’d have saved yourself a slow, painful, embarrassment-free death.” They chuckle after, appearing to enjoy her pain.

“Or you can go and fuck yourself,” She retorts, ignoring the signals of sharp, lancing pain racking her limbs and body.

“Ooooohhh,” Bandits from both gangs jeer, “Sick burn!” 

Nanosounds doesn’t hear it, everything else just background noise, serving as further distractions and she can’t afford to let her mind wander.

Fuming, the Goliath storms over and punches her; or tries to, she ducks underneath it, nimbly delivering a punch of her own with her left hand. It goes right into their gut. She feels something break under her knuckles, gritting her teeth as armor cracks and spiderwebs under the force of her punch.

Some of the armor pieces scratch her knuckles as they come loose. The Goliath staggers back, clearly winded but draw themselves up straight upon recovering after sliding back a metre or so. They glance down at their chestpiece, simply reaching up to unbuckle it and toss it away.

“Nice punch but that ain’t enough to take me down.” She notes with some small degree of pride that they sound slightly pained as well; she must have hit harder than she’d thought.

She shakes her left hand, dislodging the armor pieces caught in the skin there, ignoring the stinging sensations as they’re shaken loose to fall to the floor. 

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” She brags, making the first move this time.

\--

A short distance away in the crowd, Strife watches from the second row. He’s still disguised as a Nomad, growing even more unsettled by the second. Any initial confidence he had in Nanosounds has faded, along with any underlying anger for what she’d said to Rythian and Lalna.

It’s obvious to any onlooker that Nanosounds is losing, despite hitting just as hard (or harder). She’s receiving more blows than returning them, her inexperience in brawls apparent, without guns to back her up or having a shield equipped to take the edge off any damage.

At the moment, she’s riding the Goliath piggyback style, her fingers clawing at their steel helmet with a single-minded determination as they try to buck her off. Their hands swipe at thin air above their head, unable to reach her due to her small size.

Her hands finds the slit in their helmet, sticking her fingers into the darkness there. She starts to pull with all of her strength despite causing the wounds on her arms to tear with the strain, stretching her muscles to the point where there’ll be an week-long ache long after the match.

The leather straps holding the Goliath’s helmet down start to fray and twist until it’s too much. The straps snap with a crack that could have rivalled a whip in motion. She lets go as the helmet comes loose from her hands, arcing through the air.

The helmet lands on the floor several metres away with a loud clang. Instant silence descends, save for that of the noisy whirlpool underneath the cube. Even Kogie and Leo stop playing, mouths dropping open while Sparkles’ eyes grow wide. Every bandit in the room looks on in pure horror.

Each of them knows what happens when a Goliath’s helmet is removed. When that happens, the only thing to do is shoot or run in the hopes of leaving somebody else to successfully deal with them. In a cage match, there’s no such luxury.

Somebody starts a bloodthirsty chant that soon catches on, a rhythm that starts to build until it’s almost matching the volume of the rock music pouring once more from the loudspeakers.

“KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL.KILL. KILL. KILL...” 

Even Sparkles joins in on the chanting.

The Goliath’s head rears up on its spinal column, turning to look Nanosounds directly in the eye, somehow twisting in on itself to do so. She screams, losing her balance on their shoulders; the Goliath takes the chance to throw themself back into the chain link fencing, knocking her off their back at last.

Will enters his HUD, unable to take the chanting, Nanosounds struggling to her feet with pain-filled, set expression and the scene of the Goliath’s nightmarish head.

He can’t get rid of the sight of uneven, yellowing teeth gnashing, the red skin of their face peeling away in strips, pulsing veins standing out, polluted bone showing underneath and all those tendons hanging loose off the remains of their neck, from his mind.

His stomach churns with anxieties made real. An urgent message is dashed off to whoever is still in the dam, requesting their presence as reinforcements. Will knows he can’t take on that many bandits on his own if he decides to interfere and become a target of their wrath, even with his turret being thrown out as support.

When he exits his HUD and looks up, the Goliath has Nanosounds by the throat in one giant, gloved fist, strangling her. She kicks and struggles, her feet well off the ground, gritting her teeth so hard that her head throbs with a headache to add to the pain. 

Her fingers scrabble and scratch at the hand around her neck, her nails cracking from the force of her struggling. Saliva dribbles down her chin from her mouth, mixing with the blood on her face to form a pink foam that rivers down her chin, along the Goliath’s hand and onto the floor.

The color is rapidly draining from her face as well as her strength, judging by her every move growing weaker by the second.

“Isn’t that against the rules?” Strife desperately asks one of the Bloody Bandits standing next to him.

 

“Pretty shit way to end the match if you ask me,” They absently reply, “But it’s not against the rules.” They turn to survey him with an odd expression. “You a newbie? It’s a fight to the death, _duh_ , anything goes.”

“Oh, okay, thanks.” He mumbles in return; no help will be gained from the bandits. They turn back to the cage match with a slight shake of their head to resume shouting.

His mind is racing through all the options he has on hand to help Nanosounds. _Hold up. The rules. Anything goes._ His eyes flick to the Siren tattoos running along her left arm and just like that, he’s pushing through the crowd, catching the tail end of what might be possibly a _very bad idea_.

It’s not like knowing that an idea is _bad_ has ever stopped him from enacting it before.

He ends up at the side of the cube that’s opposite Nanosounds, trying not to look at the sheer drop beneath him, fingers loosening the fastenings to the bandit’s coat. 

With a flourish that would have earned him instant praise from Corvax, Will throws off the Nomad hat and coat, letting both flutter down into the whirlpool below.

“My hat and coat!” Someone shouts in dismay but Will pays no attention.

He’s shaking on the inside where he stands, suddenly the centre of attention. Both bandit gangs are focused on him, judging by the shouts that ring out from the two gangs. Will tries not to let the sounds bother him, standing tall and proud (and perhaps the tiniest bit elated for having made such a dramatic entrance).

The Goliath turns their head on its bony stalk, recognizing him. “Another Vault Hunter! Stay there, I’ll be right over to kill you, after I kill this one,” They promise, somehow managing to speak despite missing a half a tongue and the bottom half of their jaw.

There’s a distorted, nightmarish quality to their rough voice now that their helmet isn’t muffling it; Will tries not to shiver in his shoes upon hearing them speak, trying not to look directly at them. He fills his lungs with air, putting as much force and volume behind his words.

“Nanosounds, use your tentacle thingies! The rules don’t ban Siren powers!” He shouts at the top of his voice, knowing that she can hear him despite being on the verge of unconsciousness.

“He’s right!” Sparkles shouts into the microphone, drawing out the last word.

The cube explodes with a bright, blinding purple light that spreads to the very edge of the room, washing over every person in its way.

Will throws his hands up over his eyes, stepping back and squeezing his eyes shut against it. 

He hears something materialize into existence beside him, too blinded by the light to see what it is. By the time he realizes it’s a tentacle (doesn’t know how, he just _knows_ ), it smashes into him, destroying his shield’s charge in one blow.

By the time his mind has caught up, he is flying through the air. As his vision clears of stars and dots, he sees that there’s tentacles appearing everywhere in the room, curling and twisting through the air in search of victims. Bandits are backing away from the monstrosities, pulling out guns but unwilling to fire lest they hit one another.

A few bandits are knocked off their feet, letting out terrified screams of pain as their bones break instantly from the blows. Some bandits drag their wounded friends off to the side, murmuring reassurances while keeping an eye on the spikes flailing around.

Even as the tentacles vanish (leaving dark, inky black stains on the floor behind), they continue backing up. Only the bandits in blue belonging to the Goliath’s unit are remain clustered together, armed but also unwilling to open fire due to fear of friendly fire or starting a fight with the Bloody Bandits.

Pain erupts all along Will’s back as he hits the back wall of the room. There’s a single split second of nauseating vertigo where he’s suspended in mid-air, about to fall. In the next second, gravity takes hold, pulling; there’s nothing he can do, plummeting downwards. 

The floor cruelly rushes up to meet him. There’s even more pain from his sorry attempt to break his fall by sacrificing his limbs by throwing them out to try to stop his fall. Will instantly regrets doing so as he crumples into an undignified fetal position, rolling onto his side with a low, broken groan.

He can’t help gasping in pain once he tries moving, eyes watering from the crushing tsunami of pain that washes over him.

The worst of it comes from his sprained wrist, which hasn’t completely healed yet and his back, so sure that his spine’s bent in a few places. He can also feel the tears along his front and arms from the spikes of the tentacles having cut through his clothes and deep enough to score bleeding, irregular lines that are throbbing, white-hot with pain.

Miraculously, his sunglasses are still perched on his forehead, the lens intact.

Will is dimly aware that some of the Bloody Bandits are bending over him, examining him and shouting to one another for a medkit. Still, he manages to lift his head to see what’s become of Nanosounds. 

He is greeted by a magnificent sight that yanks the remaining air out of his lungs, leaving him breathless.

A bleeding and bruised Nanosounds has gotten to her feet, the faint pattern of shimmering, ethereal purple wings shimmering in the air behind her back. Her tattoos and eyes steadily pulse purple in time to Will’s heartbeat, the color clashing with the blood, both hers and the Goliath’s, sticking to her.

It’s an enthralling sight that chills Will to the bone. In the instance he’s breathless, he knows why Sirens are worshipped (feared, but the two might as well mean the same).

Her blood soaked left hand is clenched in a fist, the same arm extended out like she’s just thrown a punch. She hasn’t hit anything, though. Will somehow drags his gaze away to see what’s happened to her opponent, nausea welling up at the back of his throat from the sight. 

The Goliath’s hands are stretched in front of them like they’d tried to grab her again, fingers wide but grasping thin air. Their hands have stopped half a metre or so from her. The Goliath is frozen where they stand by death.

The tip of a tentacle has gored straight through their chest from behind, the end of it sticking out where their heart would have been. The circle punched in their chest is so neat that there’s no blood dripping down from it. 

Tentacle spikes slick with gore protrude out through their body from their chest, back and shoulders. Drops of blood are taken by gravity to drip onto the floor of the cube. 

Nobody in the room dares to speak, just as enraptured by the sight of her.

Nanosounds finally moves, pulling her fist back, lowering it to her side and straightening up. 

Mimicking her, the tentacle withdraws from the dead Goliath with some difficulty as the body falls to the floor of the cube, splattering blood within a metre-wide radius from the impact. Some trickles downwards, draining down through the gaps in the floor and into the whirlpool that runs red with it.

Will is dimly aware of being helped to his feet by Leo, the pain dulled but still pulsating every few seconds, threatening to send him crashing to his knees any moment.

The sight of internal organs (stomach, heart, lungs and all), muscles and bones being caught on and dragged out with the spikes of the retreating tentacle is too much. Thankfully, he’s nowhere near the cube to hear the sounds. 

Will knocks away the hands helping him. He throws up, vomit splattering the floor, much to the disgust of those nearby, dry-heaving after, unsure if there’s anything left in his stomach to manage another round of vomiting. 

The familiar act of walking through similar messes of viscera or causing wounds that leave such a sight behind has never bothered him, until now; perhaps he’s not as accustomed to being on Pandora as he’d originally thought. 

Perhaps it’s the shock of being slammed into a wall and that very sight combined with all the pain had been the final straw.

His stomach clenches, twisting in a way that makes him double over in preparation for throwing up again but there’s nothing else. His stomach insists otherwise, clenching and churning, throat seizing up with the motions but nothing comes up.

How vexing, he thinks. He thought he was past this issue but apparently not.

In the cube, Nanosounds vanishes that last tentacle and comes to, her wings and glow evaporating like a drop of water exposed to a desert’s midday heat. She blinks, coming to her senses, panting hard, her whole body pained, aching and sore all over like she’s run an hour-long marathon rather than engaging in a brawl that’d just lasted ten minutes.

Vague memories of what she’d just done drift to the forefront of her mind. 

When she tries to specifically remember what, a headache crashes down onto her consciousness. Definitely not trying that now, she thinks as she immediately ceases her attempts to access those memories. 

Her left arm feels cool despite the blood slicking it and her faintly recalling that it’d lit up.

Her veins were lit on fire from within with a burning, blazing, all-consuming,  
alien power spreading through her, even into her outstretched fingertips,  
and all she had to do was reach into the void, _beckon_ and _they_ would always come  
(oh no, not for her, never for her; _for her prey_ ).

She shakes her head, trying to clear it. The headache lifts the moment she stops trying to remember. Time will answer her questions eventually, even if she doesn’t feel like being patient now but the precious glimpses she’d had of those specific memories push one name forward: Will Strife.

She remembers Will, remembers him calling out to her. _She’d thrown him into a wall with her Siren powers for helping her._

The realization is like punching herself in the gut, except the blow is laced with guilt and horror that grip her, fear settling like an unwanted bird on her shoulder. Nanosounds lifts her head, her gaze automatically seeking out Will. With his distinctive clothing, she finds him easily amongst the bandits.

He’s throwing up; she runs over to one of the cube’s doors, rattling it as she tugs on it, desperate to get it open, leaving bloody handprints smeared on it. One of the Bloody Bandits lieutenants (likely Kogie) unlocks the door for her. Another second and she’d have ripped it off its hinges. 

She runs straight to Will, climbing over the rows and seats to reach him. She gets there as he’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. At the last moment, she gingerly sidesteps the puddle of vomit, taking in his injuries (the guilt and horror painfully digging their claws into her as fear proceeds to preen itself on its perch).

“Will, are you okay?” falls out of her mouth, tempered into coherency with genuine concern.

“Just a little winded. And in pain but I’ll live. That’s what important, right?” Will responds a few seconds later, following it up with a shaky, half-hearted laugh. 

She reaches out to him, offering a helping hand that's drenched in red for him to hang onto. He immediately draws back from her, gaze dropping to his feet and not quite meeting her eyes. 

Nanosounds instantly stops reaching for him, knowing fear when she sees it. The bandits have given them, especially her, a wide berth (and with good reason, she bitterly thinks). She retracts her hand, letting it fall uselessly to her side.

For the first time since meeting Will and the other Vault Hunters, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s always been so sure of herself but now, she is met with nothing.

Her Siren power is suddenly the rakk hive in the room, the topic that nobody had dared bring up to her before out of fear of being eviscerated if she took offense.

She claims she wouldn’t have, being prepared to insist that she’s not a danger at all, but Lalna had pointed those very things out during their argument. And she’s just demonstrated why she’s a force to be reckoned with, to both allies and enemy alike.

No matter where she goes or who she makes friends with, people will always be wary of her. No amount of confidence (genuine or not) or claiming complete control over her Siren powers will change that.

That said, there’s the alien concept that she might not possess as much control over her Siren powers as she thought she had. It’s only reinforced by how she’d lashed out at Will during her ascension.

She might as well have fallen instead, to a new low.

The fault lies solely with her, no matter how easy it is to shift the blame to the tentacle she’d summoned. She’d single-handedly inflicted the most damage she’s ever seen on him. Zylus’ security system comes in second but by a long stretch.

Her narrow win in the cage match is also weighing on her mind. Nanosounds suspects she’d only survived due to triggering some sort of innate emergency Siren power switch by putting herself in danger in choosing to enter a fight with conditions she’s not accustomed to.

She’d been thinking about the events that’d happened on the frigate as well. 

If Lalna and Rythian hadn’t stepped in, would Daltos have succeeded in killing her due to her inexperience and overconfidence? If Will hadn’t stepped in this time, would she have died in the cage match as well? 

She already knows the answers even as she asks the questions. She is not as invincible as she thinks she is. Even if she’s a Siren, she’s still only human, even if people tended to assume otherwise. She had thought death couldn’t touch her but today has sobered her up.

Before she can quietly slip away to hide, a grim Sparkles appears with a gun in his hand, backed by Kogie and Leo, the two also bearing weapons.

“You two should go and hide, we’re about to start a fight.” There’s something resembling a wry smile on his face, but there’s a cold ruthlessness to it that doesn’t quite make the smile succeed. He gestures to the doorway behind him. “Head to the top of the dam and stay out of sight.”

He doesn’t wait for her to respond, turning away to digistruct a microphone to flip it over in his hand before catching it and raising it to his mouth to shout, “Open fire!”

“It’s a trap!” yells one of the Blitzkrieg Bandits as gunfire erupts in the room from all angles. 

It dawns on her that the Bloody Bandits moving away from her tentacles under the cover of fear had been in preparation for the ambush.

Before she can admire their strategy, Will unwillingly reaches for her, swaying on the spot. She automatically moves to heft him up against her, despite the height difference causing Will to stoop and his momentary fear of her causing him to briefly shudder from being so close to her.

Together, the two limp out of the room towards the top of the dam, away from the fighting. There are bandits killing each other on the top of the dam as well but the two of them find cover behind rusted debris and buildings all along the dam. 

They go unnoticed but Nanosounds still watches out for anything headed their way.

Buzzards strafe above them, the steady rattle of their machine guns filling the air. Nanosounds notes that they’re careful not to use any missiles or bombs. Rockets trail into the sky after them, clearly the Bloody Bandits at work trying to knock them down.

The dam shakes under their feet. The air is filled with familiar sounds of violence. It’s odd, not being a part of it for once. 

It’s slow progress making their way across the top of the dam, but the sounds eventually fade once Nanosounds and Will Strife make it to a secluded area that’s deserted. The two of them look up at the area they’ve entered.

There’s a giant golden statue of a Bandit Lord on a golden pedestal, garish and not very imposing given the choice of pose (a headbang and performing a riff on an air guitar).

Vehicles in the middle of being repaired are lined up in disorganized rows. Tools, puddles of grease and pools of oil with footprints branching off decorates the floor. There’s a portable toilet nearby which is occupied but neither of them notice.

Nanosounds carefully sets Will Strife down onto a crate. He slumps down onto it, dragging his hurt wrist into his lap a moment later, breathing heavily and face pale.

He looks a sorry sight with torn clothing, scratches, bruises and gashes all over him, his expression clouded with pain. She’s left handprints on him that stain his clothes where she’d had to grab him to help him along when they’d both stumbled over uneven, cracked concrete.

She looks away, not wanting to be reminded of her actions or embed it in her memory.

“Hold on, I have a medkit in here somewhere,” She mutters, opening up her inventory. She finds a medkit, drags a crate over and upends the medkit onto it, ignoring the jarring pain in her muscles with every movement.

“Nano-” Will says in a low, pain-filled voice.

“Hold on, let me patch you up first-” Nanosounds finds an Anshin syringe, grabbing it and snapping the seal on it, moving towards him, holding it out like she had for Lalna the first time they’d met.

“Nanosounds!” Will shouts with more force behind it than necessary, startling her. She looks at him; he barely suppresses a flinch when she does so. He slumps where he’s sitting. “Patch yourself up first, you need it more than I do,” He orders in a quieter, calmer voice.

“But,” She starts, hesitating to start another argument considering how the last one had gone. He lets out an irritated sound, managing to look reproachful.

“All I’ve got is a possible concussion, scratches, bruising and a busted wrist, while you’ve just walked out of a fricking cage match.” It’s hard to ignore the logic in his words. 

She knows he’s deliberately downplaying his own wounds, prioritizing her when it should be the other way around. Sirens are after all, notoriously difficult to kill. Nanosounds swallows, still wanting to use the last Anshin syringe on him despite him telling her not to do so.

“Will…” Her voice quavers.

“I forbid you from using that syringe on me,” He orders, trying to sound authoritative but the pain laced in his words ruins the effect he’s trying to achieve.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers, meaning it.

The two don’t need to know what she’s apologizing about; it could have been for a number of things in the past (and future). She jabs the syringe into her arm, wincing from the momentary sting of the needle. Once it’s empty, she stores it in her inventory to later discard.

“It’s okay,” He softly says, accepting her apologies.

There’s tentative silence as she uses some of the remaining contents of the medkit to patch herself up. Once that’s done, she turns to the medkit to see what’s left over for Will. While the medkit had come well-stocked, there’s hardly anything left for her to use on him.

“I don’t think there’s enough supplies in the medkit for two people.”

“We can go see Lalnable,” Will says, firmly. Nanosounds senses that he would have gestured if he’d been capable of it. “He’s not that far away.”

The two of them look up at the sounds of a commotion growing closer (gunfire, inhuman shrieks and the crack of a sniper rifle going off every now and again). They remain quiet, unsure if the sounds are drawing closer; they tense in preparation to move.

The sounds grow more distant. The two of them relax, letting out identical breaths they’d taken and held. Nanosounds puts away the medkit, noting to buy a new one and replace her supply of her Anshin syringes.

“I think we’re safe,” She says, though not without some hesitation.

What she does manage to do is hand Will the last roll of bandages. He uses it to bandage his sprained wrist up as best as he can; she doesn’t dare offer to help, knowing he doesn’t want to be touched by her again if either of them can help it.

“Good thing the enemy doesn’t think to look for us over here,” He manages to joke, even if it’s costing him more energy than he can spare right now. He lets his hand fall into his lap once he’s done securing the bandage into place. 

His joke coaxes a tentative smile from her. “How can you joke at a time like this,” She replies but he knows she’s making an effort (the two of them unable to bring themselves to spoil the mood). 

In the distance, a grenade goes off with a ‘bang’.

“What is all that noise? Can’t a guy shit in peace?” Parvis bursts out of the portable toilet, causing Will to almost fall off the crate he’s sitting on in surprise with a high-pitched sound that’s almost a scream. Nanosounds shrieks, backing away from the toilet, digistructing a gun as she does so and pointing it at Parvis.

Parvis just blinks at the sight of them, frozen like a stalker caught in headlights at night.

“Who are you?” She demands, ignoring how the bandaged wounds along her arms ache at her having moved so quickly to draw a gun and aim it. He doesn’t need to know that she’ll probably miss if she shoots as the recoil will likely prove too much for her wounded arms.

Parvis sticks his hands up into the air in the universal gesture for surrender. “I come in peace,” He squeaks with fear visible in his eyes, “Please don’t shoot me.”

“I won’t shoot if you tell us who you are in the first place, just like I’d just _asked_ ,” She almost snarls, to keep up her bluff. Behind her, Will struggles to his feet, using the crate as extra leverage to stand. “I got this, Will, you don’t have to get up,” She whispers out of the corner of her mouth, voice lowered so that only he can hear her.

He stops trying at her words, resettling on the crate, his wary gaze focused on Parvis as well.

“Parvis, Bandit Lord, in charge of the Bloody Bandits and if you want proof, there’s a statue of me over there,” Parvis automatically says in one, rushed breath. There’s a note of pride in his voice as he inclines his head at said statue, not daring to use his hands to gesture. “So please put down the gun? Being shot isn’t pleasant,” He pleads, his eyes darting between the exit and them. “Which I’m sure you’d also know.”

Nanosounds lowers the gun but keeps it in her hands. “Looks like he’s telling the truth.” It really is hard to ignore the resemblance between him and the obnoxious-looking statue, actually.

“I thought you were dead!” Will points out. “Sparkles is a goddamned liar,” He mutters but Parvis hears him.

“Sparkles told you that?” Parvis scowls. “He’s never let me live down being stuck on the shitter and almost dying of diarrhoea-” Nanosounds and Will can’t help snickering upon hearing that. “That was one time!” He protests, hastily adding, “Stop laughing and forget I told you that!”

“Well, at least we know that you’re alive. Ravs told us to drop by and see if you’d really died,” Will notes, still sounding amused.

“Pfft, like I’d die that easily,” Parvis scoffs, rolling his eyes. He realizes that Nanosounds has stopped pointing a gun at him and lowers his hands. He does perk up with a grin at the mention of Ravs. “How’s Ravs, by the way?” He asks, all eager casualness.

“He’s fine. He told us to remind you that if you thought of moving into Sanctuary Hole, there’d be hell to pay,” Will informs him with a raised eyebrow.

“Never!” Parvis says, all mock outrage. “I am a man of my word and it’ll be over my dead body that my bandits will move from or leave this dam. Which asshole made that up? I’ll-” He crudely gestures a line across his throat, a murderous glint in his eyes.

The corners of Will’s mouth twitch like he’d really like to laugh. Parvis trying to appear tough is almost adorable, really, sans the sudden impulse to murder in broad daylight at the drop of a hat.

“Turps, the new meriff of Sanctuary Hole,” Nanosounds tells him, covering for Will’s momentary silence. “Don’t bother, Ravs actually trusts him, so there’s no point in picking a fight with him.”

Parvis looks disappointed, frowning a moment later. The glint doesn’t quite vanish from his eyes, though. “By the way, what’s going on? I don’t usually get visitors this far up on the dam unless something big is going down.”

“I think you should go and find out where Sparkles is and if he’s holding up against the Blitzen-Blitzkrieg Bandits,” Nanosounds suggests, almost stumbling over the name of Daltos’ bandits. “And if you see any other Vault Hunters, can you point them in our direction?”

Parvis mock-salutes her and runs off, pulling out a shotgun as he does so. Will and Nanosounds watch him go. Will waits until he’s out of earshot before speaking up.

“...Seriously, dying on the toilet? I’m pretty sure Bandit Lords are made of sterner stuff,” Will can’t help saying, earning a laugh from Nanosounds.

She instantly regrets laughing as almost of her wounds throb sharply at the same time, her conscience turning at the reminder of the only other Bandit Lord they know.

“You know, I’m pretty sure Sparkles is the actual leader,” She muses out loud, not wanting to sit there awkwardly with Will. 

“I hope Parvis doesn’t actually die while trying to reach Sparkles because that would majorly suck for the mission,” Will dryly remarks, being of the same mind as her.

\--

Halfway across the dam, Lalna, Lomadia and Nilesy are pinned down behind a broken-down bus by non-stop gunfire raining down upon them from above. 

The Blitzkrieg Bandits had recognized Lalna the moment he’d stepped outside and had reacted by automatically attempting to gun him down. The Bloody Bandits are doing what they can to help taking the chance to regroup and retaliate more viciously than before under Sparkles’ command.

There’s no clear victor out of the two bandit gangs; even without a unit leader giving orders, the Blitzkrieg Bandits have more battle experience and the advantage of fighting from the air with better maneuverability. 

On the other hand, the Bloody Bandits are fighting on home turf with sheer numbers to make up for their lack of battle experience. They’re also backed up by one ill-tempered, crested rakk that belongs to Lomadia.

On the ramparts, Nilesy and Lomadia had found her rakk being fed scraps of leftover meat by bandits, having been lured down from the sky by the smell of food. Lomadia had proceeded to give the bandits a piece of her mind before taking back her rakk, irritated at the bandits for drawing her companion away from her.

Her rakk had not expressed a single bit of regret at having mooched off the bandits. Surprisingly, Lomadia’s not that upset about it, seeming more pleased with its cunning. Now that they’d ‘rescued’ it, Lomadia and Nilesy had intended to leave the dam for Sanctuary Hole. 

Unfortunately, that’s proving a little difficult due the situation that’s unfolded, trapped between warring bandits and a sheer drop of a thousand or so metres drop down to the ground.

Her rakk is currently dive-bombing lone Buzzards that stray too far from the volt, snapping its jaws whenever it swoops past the pilot. It ducks and weaves out of the path of gunfire directed at it, shrieking and generally being a nuisance.

“I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but is your rakk going to be fine?” Nilesy turns to Lomadia, his hands clamped tight over his ears against the bullets pinging off the armored bus they’re hiding behind.

“The rakk will be fine,” Lomadia informs him with far too much calmness. She turns around to rest the barrel of her sniper rifle against the edge of a broken window frame, peering down the sights and pulling the trigger a moment later. 

She grunts as the recoil darts up her arm but draws back with a small, satisfied smile on her face.

One of the passengers hanging off the side of a Buzzard falls, much to the alarm of their friend. They let out an anguished cry, followed by a shout of ‘sniper, evasive maneuvers!’, causing the rest of the Buzzards to move more erratically but still strafe as they continue to return fire on the Bloody Bandits.

There’s frustrated shouting from the Bloody Bandits as their next few rockets completely miss their intended targets. Sparkles issues orders to bring up more ammo which Kogie and Leo relay to the bandits holding the dam entrances.

“Those Buzzards have to run out of ammo _sometime_ ,” Lalna points out, thoroughly unhappy about the situation.

“Nah, doesn’t look like it,” Nilesy says, briefly sticking his head out, only to duck down as bullets score a line where his head had been a second ago. “Yikes, do you think we could get some reinforcements?”

“I got a ping on the other Vault Hunters,” Lalna says, swallowing nervously, “But I don’t really know where they are. I can see them on my map but they’re either pinned down or making their way up here.”

“Fair enough, but I wish they’d fucking hurry up, I’m getting sick of being stuck here,” Nilesy sighs. “Can you use Larry Robert?” He asks a second later.

“I wish I could but Larry Robert doesn’t know the difference between good bandits and bad bandits yet,” Lalna points out, surprised that Nilesy would remember Larry Robert ( and a little touched that he had, actually).

He’s little sorry that he hadn’t paid more attention to Xephos’ rambling about A.I.’s. He could certainly do with one now; Xephos and Honeydew had apparently left the dam to go meet Zylus, judging by the message (dated a few hours) in Lalna’s inbox.

On the other hand, he does have The Bane. Now’s a good as time as any to test it; he doubts he’ll hit anything if the Bloody Bandits haven’t done so already. Lalna hesitates when he reaches for the Bane, remembering Teep and Ravs’ warning about it. 

The last time he’d used it, it’d gone well, once he’d ignored how stupid it fucking sounds. He pulls out the cursed SMG anyway with its battle cry of ‘SWAPPIN’ WEAPONS’. 

Next to him, Nilesy starts, managing a surprised shout of laughter before clapping a hand over his mouth and sliding to the ground, blinking back tears of mirth. Lomadia just glances over before looking away, entirely unperturbed but the corner of her mouth twitches.

“What the fuck is _that_ gun?”

“It’s The Bane,” Lalna says, lowering his voice a few octaves to achieve a deep, ominous voice. Nilesy muffles another bout of laughter with his hands.

Lalna draws the Bane up to his chest, peering down the sights. There’s far too many targets, all of them never remaining in one place for long. Still, he picks out one and pulls the trigger, not expecting his shots to hit.

A pilot he’s jokingly shooting at doesn’t move, screaming as their limbs seize up as the electrified rounds hit them, the Buzzard exploding after as the Bloody Bandits score a direct hit with a rocket.

“Thanks, Vault Hunter!” One bandit happily calls out as they reload their rocket launcher.

Lalna lowers the gun, feeling a little sick to his stomach. That had _not_ been intended but he’d somewhat missed being able to properly shoot a gun. It says a lot about how accustomed he’s become to living on Pandora. On the other hand, his body count has gone up by one.

“Keep being a distraction, we need them to sit still, even just for one second” Lomadia tells him as she frowns in mild concentration. 

Her shot pings off the frame of a Buzzard; it drifts higher, avoiding her next shot that just barely misses the pilot’s head, embedding into the metal behind them. Her frown deepens as she readjusts her aim, preparing to fire again.

The Buzzard she’d been shooting at explodes before she can.

Surprised, the three of them swivel on the spot to see where the shot had come from. Rythian and Teep are standing at an entrance to the dam, shooting at the Buzzards with an assault rifle and sniper rifle, respectively. 

Rythian looks displeased but there’s a determined spark in his eyes as he returns fire, slagged rounds coating whatever it hits with the foul-smelling, thick, purplish substance on top of punching straight through flesh and metal.

Teep reloads their sniper rifle, causing it to spit out a single round. Before the empty round can hit the floor, they aim and fire again, nailing a direct shot on another Buzzard (one of the ones slagged by Rythian) that plunges towards the ground, its pilot dead.

The remaining Buzzards open fire on their positions, only for Rythian to grab Teep’s arm and teleport, causing the hail of bullets to crack asphalt, the impacts leaving miniature craters behind.

The two pop back into existence where the others are hiding. They crouch to join them behind the cover of the armored bus. 

“Hi,” Nilesy greets, giving a small, welcoming wave, “Nice of you to finally join us.”

“Rythian! It’s good to see you.” Lalna is relieved that he’s unhurt, having feared for one moment he’d be hit by the rounds (knowing that Rythian doesn’t wear a shield but he really should).

There’s an awkward beat when Rythian glances at him. His expression is blank as if he’s making an effort to conceal his emotions, before looking away with an acknowledging nod. 

Lalna concludes he still must be mad, not blaming him one bit. A tiny part of him decides to be petty, noting that it wouldn’t hurt Rythian to at least pretend things are okay, as well as agreeing wholeheartedly with Nanosounds. 

There’s time and then there’s _enough time_. The two ideas aren’t meshing well in his head and it makes him uncomfortable, to be caught between them, let alone know that he can even have such thoughts.

“Hi,” Rythian says, a little breathlessly, “Sorry for being late, we got held up by having to make our way up from the bottom of the dam. Got lost a couple of times.”

“Never follow him anywhere, his sense of direction sucks,” Teep signs with one hand, the other one holding onto the sniper rifle resting in their lap. They turn to appraise the Buzzards (which have stopped firing in confusion upon having seen their targets vanish into thin air).

“My sense of direction is fine!” Rythian insists, glaring at them. Lalna does not volunteer that his sense of direction is even worse and thinks that Teep is only winding Rythian up.

Teep denies it with a shake of their head, hefting the sniper rifle up to their shoulder to fire off a round; another Buzzard goes down. Lomadia misses her shot. This does not escape their notice. They regard her mildly with a sideways look.

“Sloppy shooting, Lomadia,” They inform her. “You haven’t been practicing like I’ve told you to.”

“I did kill a couple of them back there, in case you haven’t noticed.” Is that a trace of annoyance in her usually calm voice? Lalna doesn’t want to risk asking, just a little bit terrified of her.

“Surely you can do better than that,” They sign, a challenge embedded within their taunt.

“Teep, now is not the time for a pissing contest,” Rythian points out with a chagrined look as he reloads his rifle, “You already have one with Ravs, so please don’t start another.”

“Too late,” Lomadia crisply informs him, clearly having made up her mind from the second Teep had thrown down the gauntlet.

A Buzzard crashes down onto the dam after she fires her rifle once more. She tosses a pointed look in Teep’s direction, a hard glint in her eyes. Teep proceeds to flip her the middle finger without taking their eyes off their next, unfortunate target. 

Rythian frowns, intending to tell them to ‘knock it off, we have bigger priorities’. Nilesy elbows his arm, shaking his head once he has Rythian’s attention, mouthing, ‘don’t argue with her, trust me on that’. Rythian pauses. 

He decides it’s not his problem as to who Teep antagonizes for fun. He turns to Lalna instead.

“Where are the other two Vault Hunters?” Judging by his worried tone, he’s actually concerned about them despite what he’d walked out on them for. He pops up out of cover to teleport someone out of their pilot’s seat. 

His victim reappears elsewhere, only to meet thin air under them and start plummeting to the ground while screaming.

“They’re around, but I don’t know exactly where, though,” Lalna says, ducking into his HUD to see. The two map markers marking their locations haven’t budged since they got pinned down by gunfire. He exits his HUD but not before passing the information along to Rythian. 

Rythian briefly considers the information, the crack of Teep and Lomadia’s sniper rifles ringing out every few seconds, the sound of explosions and guns firing adding to the steady stream of background noise. 

One of those explosions goes off several metres away and shaking their cover; Lalna tries not to flinch while Nilesy just sinks even lower where he huddles, knees pulled up to his chest, trying not to look terrified.

“Sit up,” Lomadia reminds him without turning. He lightly groans but does as she says, leaning against the bus they’re hiding behind. “It’ll be over soon,” She adds as an afterthought, sounding almost comforting. Almost, if it weren’t the edge of concentration in her voice.

“Send a message along for me saying we could do with the combined firepower of Will’s turret and your Loader once we regroup.” Rythian does not mention Nanosounds, which speaks volumes about his silent rage.

“I can’t use Larry Robert here and I don’t think Will can use his turret either.” Rythian gives him an incredulous look. “Our machines can’t tell the difference between the bandit gangs,” Lalna sheepishly explains.

“I see,” Rythian notes. ”Send a message anyway, see how they’re holding up,” He adds after thirty seconds of thinking how to best proceed.

Lalna does so via his HUD. 

> where are you two and can you come over here?  
> also, are you okay?

He receives a response within a few seconds from Will.

> We’re safe, hiding for now. I’m in no condition to move far but if you need my turret, I can try to toss it out if you can clear a zone and tell the Bloody Bandits to duck. Or run like hell.  
> Nanosounds is fine. I don’t think she can use her powers, since some stuff happened and she’s pretty worn out right now.

> we can try? stand by.  
> i don’t think it’s a good idea to use our machines since we’ll probably hit friendly bandits.  
> also, what happened?

> Good point with the turret and Loader. Hope you have enough bullets then.  
> I’ll tell you what happened later.

“Will’s thinking of the same thing I did!” Lalna tells Rythian. “Our machines really can’t tell the difference between bandits, so I guess we’re boned.” He laughs but it comes out as too anxious for his own liking; he also doesn’t fancy upping his body count, even if it’s technically in self-defence.

It also sort of irks Lalna that Will is getting along better with Nanosounds at the moment, considering she’d upset Rythian in the first place. That’s ignoring the obvious fact that he’d also contributed by bringing up what Rythian had promised in the first place. 

Lalna mentally kicks himself. This is not the time to let himself get wound up about that. There’ll be time later to sort that issue out as well as apologize to Rythian.

“...You should probably fix that,” Rythian says with a look of irritation in that his first plan isn’t going to work. Without moving from cover, he teleports another pilot out of their seat to let them meet the same fate as the other one.

“Hey, that’s what Xephos and Honeydew volunteered for!” Lalna points out, forwarding the respective message to Rythian to prove his point so that he won’t think he’s just being lazy or neglecting Larry Robert.

Rythian gazes off into the distance, presumably reading the message. He blinks, turning to him, about to say something when he notices that Lomadia and Teep have stopped firing, having lowered their sniper rifles.

“Why have you stopped firing?”

“We need to move,” Lomadia says, regarding several objects rapidly homing in on their position with unnatural calm, though she frowns.

“Why?” Lalna asks, rather naively, not having turned around to see what he’s looking at. “We’re perfectly safe here.”

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t like missiles because there’s some headed our way.” She looks to the sky, appearing to seek out her rakk that’s still dive-bombing bandits.

“FUCK!” Lalna screams as he throws his hands up and snaps his eyes shut, anticipating a world of pain.

\--

An explosion rocks the dam, sending a vibration that shockwaves outwards, including the area that Will and Nanosounds are hiding out in. Nanosounds is on her feet before she completely registers it, hefting her gun up and looking in the direction of the explosion. 

Will’s arm has come up to brace himself against the crate. He’s only barely managed to force himself to sit up, beads of sweat rolling down his face from the effort. 

Still, he digistructs a pistol. When he raises it, the barrel quivers to the point where Nanosounds doubts that he’ll be able to hit his intended target but she knows he’s trying his best.

There’s the ‘vwip’ sound of a teleporter before a group of people are smoothly deposited back into reality. Nanosounds and Will aim at them, expecting the worst. However, they lower their guns upon recognizing them, filled with a mixture of puzzlement and relief.

Rythian lands on both feet, both of his arms having been flung out to grab onto the others before teleporting to safety. He lets out the breath he’d been holding, glad he’d reacted in time.

It’d been lucky that they’d all been close together for him to pull it off in the first place.

His teleporter clinks against his digistruct modules where it’s hanging off his belt. The device is warm, but it’s not an uncomfortable, burning warm which is the case whenever he teleports too many times in succession or is pushing the limits of distance. He has Lalna to thank for that.

Teep is the only other person who’s managed to land on both feet. He’s hanging onto their arm, his hand wrapped around their elbow like he’d been pulling them along. Rythian recalls they’d switched to a pistol a split second before he’d teleported them along. 

At the moment, it’s drawn up as if they’d intended to shoot. They calmly regard him as they holster the pistol on their belt. They make no attempt to shrug his hand off them. 

A second later, they sharply jab him in the side right under his ribcage with a free hand.

Rythian recoils from the force of that jab, letting go. He massages his side through his coat and shirt. For that, he throws an irritated look at them, suppressing a wince since that jab hadn’t been gentle.

“You know, I could have shot those missiles out of the air,” Teep points out, their signing possessing an irritated air to it, “If you hadn’t fucking teleported me.”

He bites back a scathing, sarcastic response along the lines of ‘what was I supposed to do, leave you to get hurt if you’d missed?’, barely managing to do so.

“I doubt you’d have been fast enough, Teep,” He chooses to say instead, not hiding the testy edge in his voice. At the back of his mind, he knows they very well could have succeeded, considering who he’s dealing with.

Teep just shakes their head, folding their arms across their chest and appearing resentful at the missed opportunity. He’s not dealing with this now-someone tugs at his hand. He’s momentarily forgotten about the other passengers of his teleport. Rythian can’t help looking down.

Lalna is hanging off his other arm, sprawled sideways on the ground with two people in his lap. Nilesy and Lomadia attempt to untangle themselves, causing Lalna to twist about underneath to try to dislodge them. Rythian flicks Lalna’s hand off him (but not too roughly).

“Get off me, you two!” Lalna growls through grit teeth, despawning the Bane (which gives a final scream).

“Lomadia, you’re squashing me,” Nilesy points out, his voice tight. He ducks his head to push his askew glasses back up using his shoulder in lieu of his elbow (which is currently trapped under Lomadia).

“Shut up and stop moving so I can get up,” Lomadia retorts, disentangling her leg from his and squashing Nilesy’s hand in the process.

“Ow! Look, if you’d just shift your center of gravity just a little bit to the right-”

“Stop touching me, both of you!” Lalna shouts over the two of them.

“We’re not!” Nilesy and Lomadia chorus.

“If you two don’t get off me this second, I’m going to throw up on both of you!” Lalna threatens, looking a bit green in the face. 

Alarmed by the warning and not wanting to get thrown up on, Nilesy and Lomadia redouble their attempts, only to continue squashing Lalna in an even worse manner.

Rythian is inclined to help Lalna by teleporting him aside, but since he’s touching Nilesy and Lomadia, that might complicate matters. Instead, he offers a bandaged hand to Lomadia without saying anything. 

She regards his hand with mild contempt for getting them into this mess in the first place. Rythian raises an amused eyebrow, inclining his head towards Lalna as a reminder that he’s about to lose his lunch, quite possibly, on her.

Lomadia huffs and grabs his outstretched hand. He hauls her off Nilesy. Lalna immediately shoves Nilesy off his lap, causing him to grumble as he tumbles to the ground. Now free, Lalna staggers to his feet and sprints to the vacant toilet with a hand clapped over his mouth.

“Rude,” Nilesy mutters as he’s helped to his feet by Lomadia. He dusts himself off with both hands, adjusting his glasses back into place (still using his shoulder) as Lomadia circles him. 

Satisfied that her appraisal comes up clean, she puts her hand to her mouth and lets out the piercing whistle she’d used once before to summon her rakk. 

However, she adds another series of whistles, the alternating notes playfully tumbling over one another like birds careening in the wind.

Several seconds later, her rakk casts a dark shadow over them, shrieking animal obscenities from above. It glides down, spreading both giant, leathery wings out to slow its descent before it lands on her shoulders. Lomadia reaches up to scratch it under the chin before it leaps off her shoulders to take to the sky once more.

Will and Nanosounds react by pointing guns at the sky where a flock of rakks have gathered, each of them shrieking and screaming at one another. Her rakk wheels higher and higher, riding the wind currents, shrieking as well. The flock of rakks follow it, the entire flock gliding out of sight.

All of the Vault Hunters (with the exception of Nilesy, who is busy cleaning his glasses by rubbing hard at the smudged lens with his shirt) stare at her.

“Why didn’t you do that earlier?” Nanosounds asks her, sounding impressed.

“They’d all have been gunned down in an instant, so I needed a big distraction first,” She curtly informs, concern flickering over her face at Nanosounds’ state. “Teep’s shooting away at the bandits, which should do nicely.”

Rythian whirls around to see where Teep’s standing. Or was, rather. They must have snuck off while he’d been distracted. He bites off an annoyed curse, but first things first. Teep can take care of themself and again, he’s not responsible for them anymore. 

Between the rakks, Bloody Bandits and Teep, he’s sure that the remaining Blitzkrieg Blighters don’t stand a chance. That matter taken care of, he makes his way over to the toilet where Lalna is. Lalna emerges, looking less green and is wrinkling his nose.

“You done throwing up?” Rythian asks, aware in the next second that he’s all but forgotten about his anger. On second thought, it lurks at the back of his mind, pacing restlessly, waiting for a chance to lash out. He cages it for now, knowing that this isn’t the right time to let it out.

“I didn’t throw up, actually,” Lalna corrects him, all-too relieved at being spared from puking. He also sounds somewhat surprised at his own fortitude, unsure what this new development means (but it just proves Lalnable’s prediction about his concussion healing up correct).

“I suppose that’s a significant improvement?”

“Yeah! I’m really sick of throwing up,” Lalna jokes. Rythian deadeyes him but he’s smiling under his scarf, which Lalna can sort of see through the fabric of his scarf. “You’re grinning,” He says, stretching out the last word.

“I am most certainly not,” Rythian lies, his grin disappearing when he catches sight of Nanosounds and Will making their way over, Will being supported by a limping Nanosounds. “What happened to you two?”

He leans over to heft Will up against his shoulder, being careful not to jostle him any more than he has to. Will lets out a hiss of pain as he does so but bites his lower lip to suppress any more sounds of pain that try to escape him.

Nanosounds looks past Rythian, her bandaged hands (spotted a dull pink in places) clutching at her jeans in a poor attempt to wipe them clean.

“I got into a cage match against the Blitzerg- _fuck_ ,” She pauses, then redoubles her efforts to explain, forcing the words out even if all she wants to do is go back in time and make it so she’d never opened her mouth in the first place. “Blitzkrieg Bandits’ Goliath lieutenant, lost control and hit Will.”

Will doesn’t react, simply lowering his head so that she can’t see his expression. When Lalna gives her a stricken look, she gulps, the full weight of her actions bearing down on her like the gravity’s been doubled, dragging her insides down with it. 

She does not mention she won, an inconsequential event in the face of more important ones. 

Just out of her vision, she can see that Rythian’s eyes are unreadable as he takes in her words. There’s a cold fury burning there when he looks at her again. He blinks and it’s gone, replaced by tentative concern.

“We need to take Will to Lalnable, _now_ ,” is all he says. Nanosounds just nods.

Lalna moves to help her but appears to have second thoughts, disguising it as reaching over to take Will’s other arm. She does not blame Lalna for his reluctance to touch her, let alone be anywhere near her.

Alarm flashes over Will’s face as he tries to push away from Lalna once he knows that Rythian is supporting the arm that lacks the sprained wrist. Lalna pauses, hesitating once more.

“I’ll be careful,” He reassures Will. Will appears to fight himself as to whether or not he trust Lalna, remembering his hurtful words.

After a tense moment, he leans against Rythian more heavily, which Rythian bears without a problem, adjusting the way he stands so Will isn’t uncomfortable.

“Just mind my wrist,” Will warns, his tone carefully neutral.

Heeding his words, Lalna takes hold of Will’s arm, ducking underneath it and tucking it around his shoulders to help Rythian support him. Will hisses in pain again but says nothing more, his head falling to his chest, his eyes fluttering shut in an attempt to conserve what energy he has left.

Nilesy and Lomadia join them. Now ready to leave, the six of them move towards the exit but it’s blocked by bandits that have gathered there.

“Oi, you lot!” A familiar voice drifts across the open space towards them. 

In a flash, Rythian’s digistructed a gun and is pointing it at whoever is speaking. Parvis is blocking the exit to the area, Sparkles to his left with Kogie and Leo to his right. Whatever is left of their bandits are standing behind them.

Over a dozen guns are pointed at him in the next second. He doesn’t have to look to either side of him to know that the others have also drawn guns and are aiming them at the Bloody Bandits.

There’s the exception of Will (whose hand twitches out of reflex) and Nilesy. Nilesy has ducked behind Lomadia, peering worriedly from where he stands. Lomadia reaches out to gently push him back further with a hand before it returns to support the sniper rifle that’s trained on Parvis’ head.

Parvis gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing once but holds his head up high, walking over to them, his every step slow and measured like he’s following a predetermined path.

There’s dried blood caking his arms, legs, face, bandana and hair (and his lieutenants and bandits look just as dirty, bloodied and banged up as he is). It’s smudged on his face like he’d tried to rub it off but had given up and just left it smeared there. 

The shotgun in his hands bounces with every approaching step. 

He stops in front of front of them, his chest expanding as he takes a deep breath and raises the shotgun as if to pull the trigger; Rythian tenses, ready to teleport with Will and Lalna along with him instead of firing.

The shotgun Parvis is holding despawns. Parvis bows before straightening up with a radiant (and somewhat crooked) grin on his face, tears in his eyes. “Thank you!” He gushes, “We couldn’t have kicked their asses without your help!”

“Thanks but we didn’t do _shit_ ,” Will says from between Rythian and Lalna, raising his head to blink at Parvis, his mouth set in a thin line.

“No, no, you did so _much_ ,” Parvis insists, raising a hand to dismiss all the guns being pointed at the Vault Hunters and their companions. He turns, beckoning to someone in the crowd. “Like sending one of your lot over to help!”

The bandits part to let Teep through. Rythian despawns his gun as Teep saunters up to him.

“Sup,” Teep signs, “Told you I’d get those kills one way or another.” They turn to Parvis. “This one’s on the house. Next time, I’m charging you for my help and I don’t come cheap.”

“Um. What did they say?” Parvis asks, taken aback at being directly addressed but Teep has turned back to Rythian.

“They said you’d have to pay them the next time you want some professional help,” Rythian translates, understanding appearing on Parvis’ face. To Teep, Rythian says, “You prick.” There’s an affectionate note to it, however and he adds, “I’m telling Ravs.”

“Go ahead, I could use the extra competition from that tryhard,” Teep challenges before pointing to Will. “He should probably see Lalnable. Looks like he’s about to pass out any second.”

“I’m not going to pass out!” Will retorts, his expression indignant. “These are just flesh wounds, as you can so clearly tell.” Everyone knows he’s just putting on a brave face, judging by how his expression becomes clouded with pain from his outburst.

“Those are definitely going to scar,” Parvis says, squinting at his wounds. “Also, nice clothes.”

“Yeah, they look loads better than what you’ve got on right now.” Will then slyly adds, “Plus, scars are hot. People dig them.”

“I’ll have to you know I made these myself and scars are-” Parvis is interrupted by Sparkles putting a patient hand on his shoulder before he can voice his opinion on scars (he agrees with Will).

“I’ve already ECHOed Lalnable. He’s on his way.” Sparkles gives a slight cough before continuing, as if embarrassed to have taken the initiative (in contrast to earlier). “You can put Will in one of side rooms and we’ll point Lalnable in his direction first before he treats our lot.” At the slightly quizzical looks on their faces, he goes on, “Consider it as our thanks for helping us out.”

“I was about to tell you to call him,” Parvis scowls, pouting. Sparkles gives him a consoling pat on the shoulder, a small smile on his face. “I got a great idea!” Parvis claps both his hands together, grinning eagerly. “How about we give you a free pass to our future parties since that’s all we’re pretty much good for?”

“Thanks, we’ll think about it,” Rythian hastily says, repressing the memory of having to endure the crowd at the party, all those bodies pressing up against him; no thanks, he’d rather fight fifty stalkers instead.

“The lot of you will always be welcome here.” Sparkles gives a nod before tugging on Parvis’ shoulder. “Come on, Parvis, we need to move the wounded inside and clear all the bodies away, pay our respects to the dead…” Sparkles leads Parvis away, despite Parvis looking like he wants to talk more to them (likely to continue thanking them).

“Better get ready to get chewed out by Lalnable, he’s not going to be happy about how many patients he now has,” Lalna notes. “At least I’m not one of them,” He adds, pleased.

Behind them, Lomadia’s rakk decides to land on Nilesy, who indignantly waves it away (much to her visible amusement) while shouting, “Go park on someone else!”

As they travel over the dam, Will can’t help but lift his head to take in the the dam overlooking Three Horns, a rather nice view. There’s a vehicle traveling on the dirt road stretching from the bridge to the Dust to the other end of Three Horns. 

He blinks, scrutinizing the lone technical driving past with three cheering, familiar figures in it.

Trottimus is driving, one hand stretched up to high-five Ross, who is leaning out of the turret to do so. In the back of the technical, alsmiffy is spurting celebratory orange flames from their gloves. 

Several brown bags are stuffed to the brim at their feet. One of them topples over when they kick it by accident. Purple spills out of the bag. Alsmiffy appears to curse, stopping their celebration. 

They bend over to hurriedly scoop the chunks of eridium back into the bag before any can escape, straightening the bag up and retying it shut. After shoving it with the other bags, they resume celebrating.

Most intriguing. He hadn’t known Hat Corp. to be after eridium as well, but to the best of Will’s knowledge, they did specialize in a number of services; it would appear that now includes dabbling in eridium, an budding business off-world but a booming trade on Pandora. 

His report had glossed over the details, seeing no need to dive into detail after mentioning it just once. He’ll have to do more research and revise. That means more work, which he doesn’t fancy but he’ll do what he has to do. 

It’s what he’d been paid to do, after all.

Unsure of what to do with this tidbit of information since it’s not exactly worth mentioning to the other Vault Hunters or anyone else, he files it away in his mind for future reference on the off-chance it comes in handy.

Another technical passes the one occupied by Hat Corp., headed towards the dam. Will’s gaze drifts to it instead. He can see that Lalnable is at the wheel, his scowl visible to Will even from this distance.

He remembers Lalnable receiving his message earlier in the day. He manages to suppress a giggle at his reaction to approximately seventy-nine dating offers from Will ‘advertising’ him on the dating site forums.

On the other hand, Lalnable is free to possibly get his revenge as he’s treating him. Well, _shit_ , he’s screwed but it’d been so very worth it.

\--

The sun has long since dropped below the horizon. Evening has long since settled in, bringing with it a bone-deep chill from the nearby mountains in stark contrast to the scorching, daytime heat. 

Upon their return, the Vault Hunters had handed in the successfully completed mission to Ravs. He’d handed payment over in the form of a free cache of guns from Sanctuary Hole’s new gun shop owner.

The new gun shop owner’s an odd man with his glasses and lazy, drawn out manner of talking that tended to lapse into unrelated tangents, but Ravs has met stranger folk on Pandora.

All he had to do was lean on the charm, know precisely where and when to hint in the conversation, flatter in the right places and sure enough, the gun shop owner had cut him a deal to provide discounted goods for the Vault Hunters. _Easy._

Whether or not the gun shop owner (Ravs hadn’t quite caught his name yet) is onto him is something else, but so long as the deal exists, he’s content with possibly being humored.

It’s also so he doesn’t have to pay the Vault Hunters with actual money since he’s cheap like that. 

Rythian’s horrid inclination for Jakobs means he’s picky about what guns he’ll use, always sticking to his favourites. With the others, Ravs knows what’s it like to be saddled with shitty guns for an age and a half.

Giving them new guns to play with should keep them happy enough to overlook the fact that they hadn’t been actually been paid for the mission. On the off chance they do figure it out, he’s more than happy to cough up the money; he just wants to find out how long he can get away with it before they realize. 

Sometimes a person’s just gotta find some way of being entertained around these parts without falling back on murdering bandits. Even that gets boring after a while. Plus, there’s only so much he can do with trolling Teep. 

One end of the bandage around his hand has slipped out for the umpteeth time. Ravs tucks it back in, wiping down the counter one last time before tossing the rag in the bin.

Upstairs, Nilesy’s tucked in bed in one of the guest rooms, Lomadia occupying the other one. 

‘And no, we’re just _friends_ ’, Nilesy had emphatically told him when he’d implied otherwise during an earlier chat. Lomadia had given Ravs a Look (with a capital L). He hadn’t exactly dared to joke about it again, not wanting to find out what Lomadia’s temper is like, also respecting the two’s friendship.

Since that means all his guest rooms in the Crooked Caber are occupied, Rythian and Lalna are borrowing separate bedrooms in the next building over. He knows that Will Strife, along with Nanosounds are staying overnight at Lalnable’s to be treated for their wounds.

Teep had told him the entire story of what had happened at the dam, including a second-hand account about the incident leading up to Rythian storming out.

Unless he hears it straight from Rythian, Ravs is going to take the account with a grain of salt. He trusts him, but sometimes, he’s prone to being unreliable with a habit of exaggeration. It’s especially the case if he’s livid with someone, so Ravs thinks it’ll be better to talk with him once he’s had sufficient time to calm down..

Still, it must have been an especially _bad_ argument for Rythian to leave like that.

As Rythian had chatted to him about the mission, Ravs couldn’t stop himself from noticing Lalna. Standing off to the side, he’d had seemed rather quiet, shooting worried looks at Rythian’s back every few seconds or so, fidgeting anxiously where he stood.

In contrast, Rythian’s minimal interactions with him gave off an ambivalent picture. It’s as if he’s unable to make up his mind about between being angry with or forgiving Lalna. From what Teep had told him, Lalna had been one of the instigators of the argument, with Nanosounds being the other. Poor Will had been caught in the middle.

Ravs has an idea of what the argument had been about, even if Teep hadn’t gone into detail since Rythian hadn’t, either. 

He’s not going to step in and meddle; this is strictly between the four of them. Ravs is content to offer advice and hear any of them out if they seek him out, but otherwise, he’s going to keep a careful eye on them as best as he can. 

It’s the only thing he can aside from sitting them all down separately and giving a brief lecture about ‘playing nice’.

When Rythian had left to turn in for the night, he’d called Lalna over and gently reminded him of such (just the offer of advice and listening if he chose to accept and talk).

The look flashing across Lalna’s face had been wistful, pained and guilty all at once (enough for him to wonder what’s really going on). In the end, Lalna had declined, claiming that ‘I’m fine, it’ll all blow over eventually’ with a broken laugh that’d sounded entirely forced and left.

Ravs worries, he really does, about his patrons, especially the ones who had the nerve to chug his moonshine and lived to tell the tale. He supposes that’s a downside of becoming a bartender; he ends up caring. Possibly just a little too much and that includes the ones that develop an obvious crush on him.

As he locks up the bar, someone on the other side of the front door knocks. Ravs pauses, his hand hovering over the lock. It’s past closing time. There are only two people who seek him out at this hour. He hasn’t received a heads-up about either of them visiting.

Ravs unlocks the door, cracking it open enough just to see who’s there, doing so with the hand that’s not bandaged.

Nanosounds is standing there, wringing both of her hands. She starts when he opens the door, hastily reigning in her surprise. She’d clearly expected him to not answer the door, looking at him like she’d rather be elsewhere.

He casts an appraising gaze over her. Thick layers of bandages are wrapped around both of her arms. One patch is taped to her face, across one swollen cheek. There’s more injuries but overall, she looks like she’s just been through hell and back, bruises standing out here and there her skin like strange blemishes compared to her tattooes.

And no, he doesn’t hate her for what she said and did to the others. She might be a Siren but she’s just as human as they come. When he looks at her, she’s reminded of that. It evokes a twinge of sympathy in him at her current state.

Ravs sweeps his tiredness to one side where it won’t bother him, pushing a warm smile onto his face to put her at ease.

“What can I do for you? It’s past closing time, but I think I can manage coffee,” He warmly says, stepping back to let her in. With that, he’s has given her no room to decline.

It’s mean of him but his smile, soft tone and invitation has caused her to visibly relax, losing some of her nervousness once she sees that she’s not intruding. She steps in. He closes the door after her, locking it (he’ll let her out later). She follows him into the kitchen that’s all the way at the back of the bar.

He finds the switch on the wall, flipping it, flooding the room with bright light, banishing the shadows and darkness. The kitchen is small, plain with a worn wooden decor similar to that of the bar. In Ravs’ opinion, it’s also cozy. 

He keeps it neat and tidy, unlike the space underneath the bar’s counter. The kitchen has three doors leading to a fridge and storeroom, the last serving as a back door that Teep manages to get through despite Ravs having changed the lock several times..

“Have a seat,” He says to Nanosounds as he makes coffee for the two of them, bustling around the kitchen to do so. 

She sits at the table, sliding into the chair and blinking as she looks around at the kitchen, taking the sight of it in. It’s the first time she’s been back here since he doesn’t usually let people this far in.

Ravs hadn’t expected her to start talking the moment she sits down, content to give her time to think about what she wants to say and how.

“Nice kitchen,” She idly comments, her hands moving to rest in her lap.

“Thank you,” He replies, appreciating the compliment (and despite what Rythian and Teep think, his ego isn’t that easily flattered). He pulls what he needs out of the cupboards, briefly pausing to ask, “Sugar, milk? By the way, the milk is powdered, just thought I’d let you know first.”

A thoughtful look crosses over her face. “One sugar with just a smidgen of milk,” She decides on.

“Here’s your coffee.” Ravs puts the steaming mug on the table in front of her before sitting opposite her with his own mug (one sugar with a tiny carton of powdered, condensed milk added for good measure). “Careful, it’s hot,” He warns when she reaches up to cradle it between both of her hands.

Time idles by, unimportant and unnoticed in the background; he gives her as much as she needs, his curiosity kept at an arm’s distance but patiently hovering close by.

Her hands are impossibly small, scratched all over and with dark red caught under every chipped or broken fingernail. One of her hands rises to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear before curling around the handle of the mug, seemingly ready to lift it. 

Instead, appearing to draw strength from her grip, she looks him straight in the eye and bluntly confesses, “I need your help.”

“Oh?” Ravs judges his coffee to have cooled down to the point where he can sip it without harm. He does it without giving her any indication of his curiosity being piqued to see what might be needed of him.

The coffee is sugary sweet, laced with caramel, mingled with a hint of bitterness, exactly how he likes it, still warm and an absolute godsend at this hour.

Nanosounds blinks at his reticence, unsure what to make of it. “I-” She starts, her voice having grown bolder, hiding her uncertainty.

He smoothly interrupts her to gesture to her own untouched mug. “Drink your coffee.” A gentle reminder to not let good coffee go to waste. “It’s good,” He points out, “Or as good as it can be on this hellhole.”

She looks down, doubt visible in the way she peers closely at her mug. She lifts it to take an experimental sip, no more than a mouthful, smacking her lips after. Surprise flits over her face. 

Ravs disguises his amusement by taking another sip of his own coffee. Nanosounds goes on to drink more, unable to stop herself, evidently delighted in finding out that this small pleasure exists on Pandora.

“Now, what can I help you with?” He asks once she’s finished. 

The smile on her face is replaced by an expression of hard determination, her eyes steeling. He concludes (with satisfaction and relief) that it’s a decision she’d come to before she’d knocked on his door and not a spur-of-moment one.

“I need to learn better control over my Siren powers,” She says, her words dropping like stones, displacing the easygoing atmosphere that’d sprung up between them. She levels a serious look at him.

Ravs is definitely not mistaken in that he’d heard her right. He can’t help but raise both of his eyebrows. 

He’s not an expert on Sirens, possessing only just a little more knowledge than any layman, courtesy of having hung around Rythian for years to absorb whatever observations he’d idly made (not knowing that Ravs had indeed listened).

Knowledge is power, but there’s only so much he can do and he’s always preferred a more practical approach that didn’t just solely rely on knowledge.

Clearly, Nanosounds trusts him enough to request his help, admitting her own weakness in the process. He can’t very well turn her away empty-handed if he can help it.

“What makes you think I can help you?” Ravs asks, lightly adding as an explanation so she doesn’t think he’s refusing to help her, “I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Honeydew told me what went down at the Badass Crater of Badassitude,” She admits, sheepish. Her lips twitch like she wants to laugh when she says the name of the area. “He went on for quite a bit about how you kicked a whole bunch of ass without harming him or Xephos in the process.”

“That’d explain it.” That, he doesn’t mind; there’s actually more than a few people around who know what he’s capable of in a fight.

Also, if she’s been talking to Honeydew, it means she’s getting along with the other Vault Hunters and making friends in the process. He wholeheartedly approves of that.

“Mind you, he was quite explicit about your modus operandi, so to speak,” She quickly adds with a gesture of mild embarrassment (in the form of jazz hands). “I think he might have a little crush on you? Not that I have a crush on you or anything as well, I’m just-” She’s rambling now. Having realized it, she snaps her mouth shut, tucking her hands under the table but not before saying in a small voice, “I’ll shut up now.”

“It happens,” Ravs smoothly says with an indulgent smile. “I’m used to it, so don’t fret too much about being embarrassed.” He puts his mug down to one side, leaning on the table, now serious. “I can’t directly help you with your Siren problem, seeing as I’m not one myself.”

“Oh.” Her gaze travels to her empty mug on the table as she tries not to let the disappointment show on her face.

“What I can do, however, is arrange for a space for you to practice your powers in without you,” He pauses to mime an explosion, his hands fanning outwards and up, “Obliterating people and your surroundings, if that’ll help.”

Ravs doesn’t add that he’d guessed at her underlying fear of hurting others without meaning to, with such strength at her disposal; he knows exactly how that’d felt, a long time ago.

Taking into account everything he’s heard happen at the dam (Will’s condition, the cage match, her current mood), it’s not too terribly hard to see why such a fear would arise. He wonders how she’d managed in the past but pushes that out of his mind; let sleeping dogs lie.

“Okay,” She agrees, breathing out, appearing visibly relieved like a giant weight’s been lifted from her shoulders.

He puts his hands down onto the table, apologetic when he speaks, “I’m sorry that there’s not much else I can do for you aside from that.”

To his surprise, she lifts her head to shake it, the strand of hair she’d tucked behind her ear coming loose. “No, it’s a lot,” She says, sounding both firm and grateful, sounding curious when she asks, “What exactly is this space you’re talking about?”

He smiles. “I know people who know people that can lend us a place.” Ravs rises from the table, leaning across to collect her empty mug along with his. “I’ll make some calls in the morning and let you know when it’s all arranged to satisfaction.”

Something inside of Nanosounds also properly relaxes at last with his assurance of help. Her business concluded, she gets up from her chair, pushing it back into place under the table once she’s done so.

Ravs deposits the mugs in the sink (he’ll deal with them later), escorting her to the front of the bar to let her out. She steps outside, the light of Elpis lending an unearthly, moonlit glow to the outside world. 

In the light of the moon, she seems ethereal but small, a slight figure with a burden that’s almost too large for her own shoulders. For one second, he thinks of Rythian but dashes it from his mind as the two are nothing alike; okay, maybe they are, in more ways than Rythian would like to admit.

Nanosounds turns to wave goodnight but stops, peering at his wounded hand as if noticing it for the first time. 

“What happened to your hand, by the way?” She gestures to the bandage, the end of which has come loose again. He reaches up to tuck it back in, lazy about retying it.

“This? Just the consequence of a silly game between me and Teep,” He dismisses, shrugging. “It’ll heal, like most things, in time. Speaking of which, you should get some rest, you look like you need it.”

There’s a moment where he thinks she might offer to retie it for him by the way her hands rise but she stops herself, perhaps having second, indiscernible thoughts about doing so. “Thank you,” She breathes out instead, “For your help.”

“You’re welcome. I’m here to help anytime.” Ravs winks, emphasising the word ‘help’, chuckling as he closes the door on her mortified expression and before she can correct him.

Unbeknownst to them, Rythian is wide awake in his borrowed bedroom, Nanosounds’ words running circles in his head, at odds with Teep’s words. He doesn’t know whose words to trust. The choice is up to him, but doubt weathers away at his own ability to make decisions.

The results of some of them are still being felt by him, even to this day. 

He reaches up to touch a long-healed scar on his mouth before rolling onto his side so he doesn’t have to sleep on his back. His back tingles like something is crawling under the skin there even if the skin there should be incapable of producing any such feeling. 

Rythian tries not to think too much about it, closing his eyes and starts counting down from five hundred, prepared for a long, sleepless night ahead of him.

In the room opposite his, Lalna is facing the same dilemma, reasons buzzing around his head, some of them vastly different to Rythian’s own (and others, identical but the two have no way of knowing that with where they stand in regards to each other).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter clocks in at around ~34,000 words. thank you for being patient with the lack of a chapter in november since there’s not one, but two btb fics that were released in that time instead.
> 
> it was hard writing the scene where rythian delivers on his promise and how the other vault hunters reacted (with the exception of honeydew and xephos) but i’m happy with how it turned out for this chapter. the issue is sure to come up again in the future because IT SURE AS HELL WASN’T RESOLVED.
> 
> if you do go back through some of the previous chapters, you’ll probably be able to pick up a few hints that area 11 were the bloody bandits all along 8) parvis and sparkle’s profiles will be uploaded in the days that follow this chapter going live so that’s something to look forward to!
> 
> yes, teep did teach lomadia how to shoot (or snipe, rather) better. she wasn’t too bad when she arrived on pandora since you learn pretty quickly to shoot but she eventually requested lessons from teep upon meeting them and zoeya. zoeya knows about the lessons; she’s glad they’re friends but lomadia and teep get along like a house on fire. now imagine a pandoran take on that saying. you’re welcome.
> 
> there are only three people (rythian, teep and nilesy) who know that ravs can actually make coffee and have the guts to ask for it. much to ravs’ disgust, rythian takes his full-on black because he is bitterness incarnate, ha ha ha.
> 
> teep never drinks any coffee ravs makes for them because ravs always puts in too much sugar and they don’t need the sugar crash no matter how much ravs insists it’s productive for sniping because IT IS NOT.
> 
> nilesy probably drinks his coffee like a normal person. that is, it’s a healthy mix of sweet/bitterness and not the ungodly concoctions rythian and ravs prefer to drink. it’s a good thing ravs asked nanosounds what she likes or else he’d have given her exactly what he likes and it’s well. pretty damn sweet (get it).
> 
> lastly, i got two words in regards to where the next chapter is taking place: _digistruct peak_. 
> 
> the doodles for this chapter are located [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/post/136109484859/the-moment-her-words-have-left-her-mouth-rythian) and [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/post/136109486004/some-body-once-told-me-screams-bloody-murder), drawn by lovely siins as usual! thanks for reading, you’ve been fantastic <3


	9. You Fight As Well Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> insert usual warning for lots of bangs and punches (that’s guns and violence). have some additional warnings about being set on fire, dunked in a lake and later on, being eaten and digested alive by a creature bigger than you. confused? THAT’S OKAY. it’ll make more sense as you read. 
> 
> i ask only one thing of you, before you read. when you get to the second last scene in this chapter (the one with the gun shop), please have [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N1-RyLUQUrA&ab_channel=EluTran) on loop while you’re reading it. trust me on this, you will not regret it.
> 
> that is all. enjoy!

It takes Ravs approximately the first half of a week to obtain permission to use Digistruct Peak. The latter half is spent waiting for the Vault Hunters to heal up and prepare for the trip. They have all the time in the world. Besides, it’s not like they’re in any major rush to head up there.

Once the day finally arrives, Rythian, Lalna and Nanosounds gather in front of the Fast Travel Station to wait for Ravs. It’s unusually tense. There’s no other way to describe it, from any of their perspectives. The three of them loiter, trying to not fidget, avoiding any direct eye contact and letting silence contain any attempts at conversation like an officer giving a row of condemned inmates the stink-eye for any idle chatter.

Five minutes later, Ravs strides over with one Teep in tow.

“Why are you here?” Rythian asks them. It’s odd to find them away from Zoeya’s side, let alone following Ravs along to anywhere.

“I asked _very_ nicely,” Ravs says in a coy tone, jokingly nudging Teep with evident affection. Teep grabs Ravs’ arm and bends it back. He laughs and twists out of it with practiced ease (which they allow, hands withdrawing to fold over their chest instead in a mild sulk).

“Zoeya’s got her new girlfriend to entertain her, and I’m bored,” Teep signs, their hand motions languid as if the daytime heat is beginning to get to them.

It’s been a week since he’d met Saberial. He’s never seen Teep and her in the same room or even exchange a single word. He’s seen Zoeya in the company of one or the other, but never both at the same time.

He still trusts Teep to know what they’re doing (and to an extent, for Ravs to keep an eye on them). Rythian would very much like to ask if Teep is jealous, but knowing Zoeya’s personality and tendencies for unplanned mischief, it’s likely that Teep is very much glad to be relieved of their duties, even for a little while.

Swallowing back wanting to ask ‘is everything okay?’ because he can’t help but worry anyway, Rythian forces himself to be satisfied with Teep’s explanation for tagging along and nods at Ravs.

“Are we ready?” Ravs brightly asks the three people standing in front of him, giving each of them brief once-overs, still remaining blissfully oblivious to the current atmosphere. “Got everything you need? Nothing left behind in the Crooked Caber?”

There’s a beat as everyone save for him and Teep hastily check their inventories and person before they all nod.

“Ready,” The three Vault Hunters chorus.

Ravs accesses the Fast Travel Station, punching in the code for Digistruct Peak and waves to them. They manage to catch his words before he vanishes in a flash of blue and white pixels and a teeth-grinding sound, the light show lasting only a few seconds. “Excellent, see you on the other side!”

Teep, too, vanishes once the Fast Travel Station resets. Rythian senses that they roll their eyes underneath their goggles at Ravs’ upbeat energy this early in the day.

Without any prompting, Nanosounds steps up and goes the way of the two who preceded her. She doesn’t look back, closing her eyes as the light engulfs her, yanking her into an alternate state of being and world, presumably being safely deposited on the other side of the network.

Rythian and Lalna are left. The two glance at each other, the atmosphere becoming stifling. It’s not the first time in the week that they’ve been left alone like this, to their own devices. They might as well be standing a hundred metres apart, the distance preventing them from reaching out to one another. It’s hard to start any talk, even small talk.

It just feels...wrong, somehow, like all the energy out of any prospective interactions is being sucked into an invisible, perpetually hungry void that thrived off it. The two of them would be lying if they said that they enjoyed being unable to talk to each other without it lapsing into awkward silence within seconds.

Rythian eventually gestures to the machine. “You can go first,” He hurriedly offers.

“No, no, you first!” Lalna rebuffs, holding up his hands and shaking his head. 

He’s been getting less nauseous in regards to the sudden teleports that Rythian had a nasty habit of springing upon him without any warning. That includes any Fast Traveling he’s forced to undergo. That being said, there’s still a tiny bit of anxiety left regarding that, that Lalna still feels whenever he so much as looks at the machine or thinks about it.

“I insist since I said so first,” Rythian impatiently counters. “Or are you still feeling sick whenever you travel?” He tries not to sound mocking and succeeds, sounding concerned instead. Even if he’s not exactly speaking to Lalna at the moment, to say that he doesn’t care is another lie. That includes the other Vault Hunters (yes, even Nanosounds).

That unexpected question has the effect of surprising Lalna, who opens, then shuts his mouth like some sort of bewildered fish caught out of water. He eyes the machine with mild trepidation, fear momentarily flashing through his eyes. One of his hands comes up to rub at the side of his face.

“A little,” He admits, though not sounding the slightest bit happy in doing so. “Lalnable gave me some anti-nausea meds that I’m supposed to take.”

“If you have to take them, now’s the time,” Rythian gently suggests. A petty part of him snidely points out that it’s more than what Lalna deserves, right now. He smothers it under a cushion of ‘being allowed to care for the well-being of others despite not being on speaking terms because he’s not a dick’.

Lalna’s hand hovers over a digistruct module under his lab coat, stilling over it like he’s seriously debating taking the meds out. He gives an abrupt shake of his head, his mouth setting into a determined line. “No.”

“No?” That causes Rythian to raise a curious eyebrow. “There’s nothing wrong with taking them. They're there to help you, not hurt you.”

“I know, but…”

“But...?” 

“I want to do this without taking them,” Lalna says with firm resolve. He steps up to the Fast Travel Station, head held high and chest puffed out (but in reality, it’s just mock bravado, all for show).

Rythian sees that his mechanical hand has folded over into a fist that would appear steady to the untrained eye. The fingers of his other hand carefully enter the code. The machine unfurls, ready to-and then Lalna swiftly cancels it by passing his hand over the screen.

He gives a shaky laugh that sink like barbed hooks into Rythian’s heartstrings.

“Lalna,” Rythian starts with increasing concern.

“You go first! That way, if anything happens, like if I faint, you can catch me, once you’re on the other side,” Lalna blurts out, looking down at the ground after. He’s embarrassed and a little bit ashamed to be suggesting something like this. He can’t help but recall how much Rythian’s been helping him, even if he never exactly outright asked. 

His nightmare at the dam, for starters. He blocks his automatic recall of what followed after, a sliver of self-loathing lodging again in his chest that induces a minute spike of adrenaline. 

“Nothing is going to happen.” Rythian takes one step closer to Lalna. Lalna’s face anxiously creases. “Remember the last time I teleported you? You didn’t throw up.” It would appear that Rythian knows it as well.

“...You have a point.”

“I’ll go first anyway, but you’d better show up,” Rythian jokes. It has the effect of coaxing a small smile from Lalna (who also relaxes). Rythian reaches out towards the Fast Travel Station, entering ‘Digistruct Peak’ and lets the light of the machine take him. The last thing he sees is Lalna’s expression which is still faintly anxious.

At the back of his mind, he wonders if Lalna’s improving or if he’s just hiding his fear and pretending that he’s okay. Something that Rythian knows all too well how to do. He’s been doing that for well over five years now.

He spawns at Digistruct Peak, feeling solid ground beneath his feet. A bone-deep chill (fucking hell, that’s _cold_ , colder than the Fridge) that immediately has him buttoning up his coat and drawing his scarf up closer to his face, tucking it in further. 

Directly behind the Fast Travel Station is Nanosounds, breathing out small cloud of white whenever she exhales. She’d likely vaulted over the railing to go and peer at the mountainous scenery (including a lake almost frozen over, far down below), goggling at the snow gathered on top of the buildings and the peaks surrounding them. 

He joins her, leaving imprints of his presence behind alongside her own in the form of footprints.

It’s the first time he’s ever been to this place. Ravs hadn’t exactly gone into detail on why he’d insisted they come here. Well, he trusts Ravs, regardless of whatever ulterior motive he has in dragging them, the Vault Hunters, all this way. And one bored Teep.

Behind him, the machine digistructs a familiar figure. Lalna appears, swaying unsteadily on his feet before blinking, breathing out hard, sweat clinging to his face and forehead. He darts wary glances this way and that before hastily patting himself down with both hands. 

Eventually satisfied that he’s in one piece (no extra limbs or tumors, phew), he exhales in evident relief before climbing over the rail and jogging over to Rythian, clearly coming down from an adrenaline high.

“Hello!”

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Rythian points out, unable to stop a tiny, proud smile that his scarf hides for him.

“Still never going to get used to that,” Lalna says, rolling his eyes. Beside them, Nanosounds says nothing but she bites her lip like she might be holding back (like congratulating Lalna on conquering his fear of Fast Travel, for one). The other two don’t notice.

As if realizing that the temperature is obnoxiously low, Lalna proceeds to start shivering, rubbing at both his upper arms, hunching over. Amusingly enough, his teeth start to chatter.

“I think you should put on your lab coat,” Rythian helpfully suggests. In record time, Lalna rips apart the knot tying it to his waist and yanks said coat on, buttoning it up.

“Ravs should have warned us it’d be this cold!” He’s still shivering despite the extra layer of clothing.

“Maybe it’s because you weren’t paying attention at the time,” Nanosounds points out with a grin, unable to resist teasing Lalna at last. The other two’s heads turn to stare at her, surprised that she’d just spoken up. She immediately averts her gaze to the peaks, her expression going neutral.

The atmosphere from earlier returns in full force.

Ravs walks over, rubbing both of his hands together (and Rythian notes that in the time since he’d arrived, Ravs had pulled on a leather jacket instead of running around as he usually did: only in a vest, boots and a kilt).

“About time you two got here, I went ahead to make sure everything’s-” He begins but is interrupted by the sound of the Fast Travel Station activating one more time, digistructing someone.

Aside from Ravs, the others slip into battle-ready stances to receive them, unsure about who it might be, there’s nobody else who could possibly have access to this place.

Will Strife blinks, then sheepishly grins. “What?” He raises both of his eyebrows at the sight of them. “Did you really think it’d be that easy to ditch me? Think again!”

“You should probably be resting,” Rythian says with a faint smile, straightening up and putting away the gun he’d digistructed.

“Pffft, I’m fine.” At their skeptical expressions, Will explains, “Lalnable decided to release me early, provided I don’t rip my stitches open again. Also, he wants me to tell you not to injure yourselves or else he’ll be really upset. Besides, the party don’t start ‘til I walk in.” He lets out a small chuckle after.

“Nerd,” The other three Vault Hunters mutter under their breath but they seem genuinely happy that Will is up and about, especially Nanosounds. She keeps her distance from him though, earning a slightly concerned look from Ravs. She doesn’t see it as her back is turned to him.

“Is it just me or is it really, really fucking cold?” Will digistructs a thick winter coat, black in color and pulls it on. At the mildly surprised look on their faces, he proceeds to note while sounding amused, “What, did you think I’d have a red one?” 

He doesn’t add that he does lest the others make fun of him, but he thinks the black contrasts the rest of his outfit rather nicely.

“Let’s just go,” Rythian impatiently says, shaking his head. He neglects to mention that he’s sort of missed this easy banter, more than he’d initially thought. However, he’s unsure how to fix things so that they’re all back to the way before.

Ravs leads them through the hallway, past the Quick Change Station, outside. Soon enough, they’re far too engrossed in taking in the place that is Digistruct Peak. 

Towers with pencil-thin spires rise above the peaks surrounding them, a series of ramshackle, surprisingly intact buildings laid out on solid, rocky foundations with a light dusting of pristine white covering everything. Structures and buildings rise and fall on levels that appear to have been placed to match the mountain’s contours. 

A maze of hallways and stairs connecting all the buildings and sprawling open spaces up. Snow continues to fall overhead, melting into tiny droplets on their person.

Lalna nudges one of the odd, circular shapes embedded into the ground in front of him. “What’s this?” He asks, unable to resist giving another curious nudge.

“That’s a digistruct module, specially made for this place,” Ravs explains. He leans down to sweep the snow off the ground with a hand, revealing several more clustered together. “Actually, they’re pretty much everywhere in this place.”

“There’s so many of them!” Lalna glances around and spies more than thirty of them set into the ground of the area they’re standing in. If he assumes Ravs is right, there must be more than a hundred given how large Digistruct Peak is on his map.

“What do they do?” Will asks, crouching to peer more closely at the closest module, poking it with a wary finger. It feels cold to the touch, solid and definitely made to last. He suspects they digistruct something, but what? He ignores the stitches that strain along his chest and thigh as he stands. Still better than what he’d felt a week ago.

“You’ll see,” Ravs gives an enigmatic smile. Rythian rolls his eyes at the need for theatrics, opting to say nothing as he leads them deeper into Digistruct Peak. 

The others seem taken in by their surroundings, boggling at the walls rising up all around them. To Rythian though, it feels like he’s being driven into a corner, penned in, awaiting the inevitable moment that he’ll be surrounded…

He snaps back to the present, hastening to catch up with the others who have since paused in front of a metal gate. Fortunately, he catches the tail end of the talk that’s going on, apparently having missed Ravs’ explanation of the place’s purpose. It’s not hard to figure out once he starts listening in.

“You mean, we’re going to be fighting digitized enemies?” Will sounds clearly intrigued by the concept. His eyes widen and he triumphantly grins, snapping his fingers before pointing to the modules in the ground. “Is that where they’ll be coming from?”

“That’s right!” Ravs is clearly pleased by Will’s insight and smiles at him. Will reacts by coughing, seemingly pleased by the smile directed at him, stowing his hands into his pockets. “All your skills should be just that little bit sharper once you’ve completed one run or multiple ones.”

Nanosounds puts up her hand. She’d asked Ravs for his help and this is what he delivers. She’s not sure if she likes it. “Do we have to work together?” Lalna can feel an inquisitive glance being thrown his and Rythian’s way that they ignore.

“Well, that’s the other idea, to focus on teamwork as well,” Ravs lightly says. “It’s almost impossible to run this course on your own unless...” He appears to cut himself off with a slight shake of his head, continuing with, “Anyway, do try to work together.” There’s quite an emphasis on the word ‘try’.

“Great,” Rythian says in a less than thrilled tone at being forced to work together with the teammates he’s not on great terms with. It doesn’t take a genius to see what Ravs intends by forcing the four of them into a situation demanding teamwork. Actually, it’s not surprising for him to want to brute force a solution like this.

Lalna’s hand shoots straight up into the air. “How do we lose?”

“Good question! You lose when your shield goes down and you take too much ‘damage’ while you’re unshielded.”

“Oh.” Lalna puts his hand down, now looking somewhat unnerved by Ravs’ answer. He moves to poke at the shielding, reluctant to participate now.

“One more thing. If all of you ‘die’, the course ends and you’ll have to start from the very beginning. Good luck!” Ravs turns to leaves. The metal gate he exits through closes up behind him, locking the Vault Hunters in a tiny area where the only way forward is through the other metal gate that’s currently closed.

The moment Ravs is gone, Nanosounds digistructs a puffy winter jacket with a fur lined hood, sliding her arms into the sleeves and dragging the zipper up, having finally grown tired of the cold plaguing her.

Lalna stops poking the translucent barrier separating them from the course below and is unable to stop himself from cracking up at her appearance.

“What’s so funny?” She asks, clearly indignant. 

“You look _ridiculous_!” Lalna wheezes between bouts of laughter. Rythian and Will carefully avoid looking like they want to join in. She really does look ridiculous, like a little eskimo. Albeit one who could beat them to a bloody pulp if provoked. 

“Well, excuse me for being _cold_ and only having one jacket!” That annoys Nanosounds, who’s unable to stop her temper from boiling over (it’s the best and nicest jacket she has, what would he know about _looks_ when he wears nothing but jeans and t-shirts). 

She scoops up a fistful of snow, packing it tightly together before lobbing it straight into Lalna’s groin. Lalna shrieks in pain and doubles over, hands flying straight to the site of injury. Rythian and Will snicker from where they’re standing, not at all inclined to sympathize with him (something tiny also shriveling up inside of them at seeing where he’d been hit, however).

The metal gate finally slides open. Nanosounds huffily marches through it, her cheeks pink and looking irritated, toting a gun in her hands. Rythian and Will move to see if Lalna requires any medical attention to his delicate bits.

He kind of deserved it.

\--

None of them are sure what to expect but the second the last person (Will Strife) walks through the gate, it slides up again, blocking off their retreat. They’re on a narrow bridge with barely enough room to move, which makes them all uneasy. 

Two of the modules light up in front of them on the other side. The two modules spawn the outline of two skags that shimmer and stutter as if they’re badly made, glitching in and out of existence.

Nanosounds fires off a few rounds at them. The bullets fly straight through, marring the concrete behind them. Ravs tuts in her ears (which the other Vault Hunters can also hear, being on the same ECHO channel). “Save your ammo, you’re not allowed to damage them until they’re fully digistructed.”

She purses her lips together, her irritation rising a notch and reloads. Once the skags fully materialize, they charge straight towards the nearest person, that person being her. Without backing up, she unloads her gun straight into their gaping maws, blowing their heads off.

They disappear in bursts of towering white light that soon fades. _Child’s play_. She’s ready for this course if this is all it consists of. She strides ahead of the other three, not bothering to reload. The other three move to follow her, not sure whether to move with or against her taking the initiative.

More skags leap down from atop the cliffs jutting up here and there, loping towards them. A few duck past the shots intended for them, snapping their bifurcated jaws shut and preventing any more critical hits. They slink behind the rocks, a hail of bullets scratching the surfaces of their cover.

An old scar along the underside of Rythian’s arm starts to crawl at the sight of those five skags lurking, waiting for the chance to pounce. The last time he’d fought skags at this range had been during a job for Zoeya, which had ended rather badly. Hence, the scar there.

None of the skags attacking are about the size of a technical or have the characteristic black and white mottling denoting a ‘rabid’, the most aggressive and tenacious of all the skags he’s ever fought.

He’s sure that they can deal with them without any casualties on their side, if there’s no ‘rabids’. He doesn’t doubt that Ravs will eventually throw in several of them if the current ones prove no problem for them.

“Lalna, drop your Loader and see if you can draw them out,” He orders. Lalna’s head snaps up from peering down the sights of his assault rifle.

His mechanical arm swings up (that’s new), letting Larry Robert out into the fray. Larry Robert goes for the nearest skag, clunking behind the rock. Five seconds later, the Loader emerges from behind a rock, a skag having latched onto one of its metal arms. Protective of his robot, Lalna raises his gun.

Rythian takes the shot first and the skag drops from Larry Robert’s arm, dead. Larry Robert moves to lure the next skag out from behind cover.

“Thanks,” Lalna hurriedly says. Rythian just gives an acknowledging nod. Lalna is about to smile at him when there’s a shriek of metal that sounds out of place. 

Smashed by an unseen force, Larry Robert is flung straight at Rythian, a sizeable hole torn in its midriff with sparks flying out of it. A dead skag goes flying in the other direction.

He doesn’t freeze on the spot, not allowing himself to be crushed by the remains of the robot. Much like all the other times, he lapses into a state that he knows only exists if he’s in mortal danger, tapping into a power that he shouldn’t be, like back on the dam or in the scrapyard.

In this state, a second becomes half a minute, stretched out like a rubber band being pulled to its limit and granting him the advantage of time. Prior to all the events that have happened so far, he’d never known this had been possible. Then again, lots of things seemed impossible until given more thought.

If he’s ever accessed this sort of state before, he doesn’t remember it. Weirdly enough, it doesn’t feel all that alien to him, comfortable like pulling on his favourite coat, like he’s done it before (technically right but not, at the same time). This time, it feels more natural, like breathing.

The teleport places him on a rocky outcrop a few metres away, well out of Larry Robert’s path. Time resumes its normal pace as reality calmly resettles around him.

Lalna can only stare as Larry Robert’s mangled state collides with the wall, metal parts grinding against each other in a distressing way, the robot’s remains slumping down, unmoving.

“Larry, no!” He cries out, rushing over straightaway. He sees that it’s pointless to coax Larry Robert back up, his robot’s eye has gone dark, indicating that it’s offline. He technically makes copies that fight for him, but it’s always disheartening to see his favourite robot get destroyed.

And how easily it’d happened too. There’s only one thing he knows that’s capable of doing that much damage. He looks around for Nanosounds.

“Rythian?” Will looks around for Rythian and spots him. “Rythian’s fine,” He informs Lalna, but he’s distracted at that moment by a skag that’s chosen to jump out at him, jaws stretched wide to bite and he can't swing his gun up in time. 

Lalna guns it down from where he’s standing, looking furious. 

“Lalna, I’m sorry, I didn’t see Larry Robert there!” Nanosounds shouts from somewhere in front of them, clearly shocked. Or that shock is to cover up something else, Lalna thinks with a burning vindictiveness backed by his newly revived hate of her.

He finds her fending off three skags, the fourth charging her from behind. Lalna raises his gun and opens fire. Not on her, but the skag ambushing her. Nanosounds and Lalna’s eyes meet, briefly. She seems genuinely apologetic, her eyes reflecting her growing horror at another friendly fire incident. He looks away, not allowing the look to soften his vindication one bit.

“I think you should stop charging ahead,” Will evenly says to her, unloading an entire clip of his rifle on the rest of the skags surrounding her.

“And maybe skags will _fly_ ,” sarcastically retorts Lalna. Will’s about to tell him that he wasn’t talking to him, he was talking to Nanosounds, _thank you_. Before he can, Lalna moves to join Rythian, who’s coming up behind them with a sniper rifle in his hands. 

Lalna draws the Bane, striding off down the hill towards the next area. The gun screams an incoherent battle cry, startling Rythian, Nanosounds and Will in the form of them looking around and trying to place where it’d come from. Lalna’s moving in slow motion, not realizing it immediately. It looks even more strange since he’s wearing an expression of furious determination.

The other three look between one another once they mentally connect ‘The Bane’, the screaming and Lalna’s slow walking.They can’t say anything or laugh (however tempting it is). Laughter feels out of place, unwanted like a thirteenth guest showing up without an invitation at a twelve person party.

Will Strife tries his best to swallow his sinking, gut feeling that this session is about to get worse, very fast if the four of them don’t shape up and start working together. More enemies spawn in the open. They’re several larger skags with mottling that he’s never seen before.

A short way away, a disgruntled Rythian grumbles, “God fucking dammit, Ravs.”

\--

In the control room, Ravs watches the monitors with a growing disappointment. He runs a hand down his face, pushing off the table behind him. He’d entered Digistruct Peak with high hopes of Rythian, Lalna, Will and Nanosounds having since put their differences aside or being able to. 

Instead, the complete opposite’s happened: they appear to have abandoned all notions of working together from the instant Nanosounds had accidentally destroyed the first iteration of Larry Robert.

Rythian keeps sniping the targets that Nanosounds and Lalna are aiming at under the paper-thin pretense of saving them the trouble of shooting. Half the time, he’s missing, apparently simply shooting just because he can and distracting the other two when those shots come dangerously close to clipping them.

Nanosounds and Lalna have since resorted to blocking Rythian’s shots in any way possible, from using tentacles randomly spawning in his line of sight or Lalna simply ordering Larry Robert in front of a prospective foe that Rythian could easily snipe.

Will Strife is lagging behind, doing his best to keep out of the mess as much as possible. Not once has he dropped his turret. Perhaps he doesn’t quite trust the current situation enough to use it. Or perhaps he fears that one of them will wreck it just as they did with Larry Robert.

The other three are treating him like a neutral party, relaying orders to him that he passes on to the others. Judging by his increasingly stressed expression and the hand that keeps going to one of his thighs, it’s starting to take a toll on him. He’s having to both keep an eye out on the battlefield and his teammates as well, struggling to defend himself more than contributing to any attacks.

This won’t do. Even if this is just a test run to see where they’re all respectively sitting in terms of skills, strengths and weaknesses, it’s also an exercise in building rapport under high pressure. Nothing like danger to bring people together.

Teep is also watching the monitors. They’ve been doing so in complete silence, never reacting, simply observing the multiple feeds that reflect off their goggles. If Ravs hadn’t been so familiar with Teep, he’d have thought they’d fallen asleep. He’d invited them along since they’d had nothing else to do in Sanctuary Hole and surprisingly, Teep had accepted.

Teep unfolds one of their arms to point at one of the monitors. Ravs glances at the one they’re pointing at and frowns.

Will Strife is sitting on a crate shoved up against a wall, having since put his gun down besides him. His hand clutching his leg to the point where his hand is shaking, face scrunched up in pain. The other three are covering him, positioned in a defensive formation. 

Nanosounds throws him a worried glance but he misses it, too focused on trying to regulate his breathing with deep breaths. It’s not working.

“Better go get him, he looks like he’s out for the count,” Teep advises with unnatural calm.

“Mind the controls, would you?” Teep nods as Ravs exits the room to take a shortcut straight to them. If Lalnable knows about him letting Will get even worse, there’ll be no end to the complaints.

Once he’s gone, Teep moves. They casually saunter towards the control panel where all the mechanisms controlling the course are located. They find the one for enemy opacity and turn it up all the way to the maximum (to inflict as much damage as possible). The other one they tamper with is the difficulty.

Ravs has set it to the lowest possible one, evidently intending to gauge the Vault Hunter’s current stats based on the data that’s being gathered. Well, for starters, Teep is so very bored and knows that there is no way in hell that any amount of combat will get the others to work together again. 

Also, they haven’t quite forgiven Nanosounds for the stunt she pulled with Rythian in insulting and upsetting him. They don’t really care that she’d asked Ravs for help. It’s Ravs’ decision to help her. That’s one thing they won’t interfere with.

On the other hand, they can certainly make her life a lot more difficult. Of course, Rythian and Lalna are also going to suffer, but that’s inevitable. Plus, putting them through a tougher gauntlet might end up building whatever ridiculous notion of teamwork Ravs believes in. 

It’s tough love at its finest. Teep sets the highest possible difficulty and makes sure that it overrides the rest of the course’s settings.

They retreat to the back of the room to watch the ensuing chaos that’ll unfold once Rythian and the other two reach the next area. On one of the other monitors, Ravs has successfully retrieved and is carrying one protesting, red-faced Will Strife in his arms back to the control room. Teep watches, impassively.

It’s extremely fortunate that Will Strife is going to be sitting out or else he’d need more than rest for what the other three are going to experience.

\--

Rythian reaches out, marking one of the distant targets, a bandit, for teleport. Ravs has just extracted Will Strife since Strife’s leg hadn’t been up to trekking around the course after the other Vault Hunters. It doesn’t occur to Rythian that he and the others might have contributed to the increasing amount of stress that’d eventually forced Will out of action.

So they’re down to three out of four. It might as well be just him, considering Lalna and Nanosounds aren’t speaking, not without being completely snide or snapping at each other, words being spat out without an ounce of consideration behind them. 

Without Will to act as the middleman, there’s nobody to relay information back and forth. Rythian’s not speaking to Nanosounds, Nanosounds isn’t speaking to him or Lalna and well, logically, Lalna isn’t speaking to her.

He is however, listening to whatever Rythian’s telling him to do. He usually doesn’t respond or give any indication that he is listening, though. It’s also rare that Lalna chooses to talk to him first, usually to alert him of any incoming high priority targets.

They’re managing to scrape by, so far. Rythian doesn’t like what’s going on but he’s stubborn about taking the first step to fix the situation. He’ll be damned if he’s the one who has to apologize since he still firmly believes that Nanosounds is in the wrong for what she’d said to him at the dam. 

Meanwhile, Nanosounds is wrestling with the impulse to tell Rythian and Lalna that they’re right, she shouldn’t have said those things, she’s _sorry_. She really is, guilt racking her from the inside-out whenever she’s not focused on their task of clearing out each area.

She also hadn’t intended to wreck Larry Robert, intending on the tentacle going for the skag but the robot had just gotten in the way, wrong place, wrong time and her control’s been slipping since the dam.

Lalna probably won’t want to hear it, unwilling to blame his robot’s poor programming. Shit, he could really be vindictive, stubborn and uncooperative when he wanted to be, she’s only just discovering (or is rediscovering, rather).

Judging by how he and Rythian are behaving towards her (ugly looks being directed at her behind her back, don’t think that she’s oblivious to them), she might as well not apologize at all. If they want to be passive-aggressive towards her, then _fine_. 

Three can play at that game. She’ll play as long as she needs to but she’s certainly not going to be the one who throws in the towel before everyone else.

Behind a rocky outcrop, Lalna’s has a newfound appreciation for the concept of digistructed enemies. He doesn’t have to worry about them having real lives, friends, family or anything resembling a human life being destroyed as a result of his actions. It’s great. Here, he can shoot at them as much as he likes, no problem.

They’re just bits of light and programming strung together to mimic whatever they’d been instructed to. They fight back, yes, but he doesn’t have to worry much about prospective wounds or actually dying for real if he gets hit too fatally. It still hurts though, whenever something grazes or hits him.

Other than that and the issue with the other Vault Hunters, he’s slowly beginning to enjoy himself. Nothing like blasting heads off to bust stress and forget about his problems for the time being, fully concentrating on what he’s doing. Aim, pull the trigger, wait for enemy to go down. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Rythin rips a bandit in half mid-teleport, showering blood and guts onto the ground. The bandit’s shriek of surprise becoming one of pain that dies in the same breath. In response, Rythian lets out a soft sound of amusement, apparently having just figured out that he’s capable of doing that with his teleporter.

Lalna claps a hand to his mouth, eyes widening from how realistic the wound is. Both halves of the twitching body wetly thud as they land in the snow, leaving behind pools of red mixing with white, forming pink saturating the ground. A heartbeat later, the entire mess fades but _holy shit_ , it might as well have been a real bandit that’d just died.

He thought he’d grown used to any sort of violence but seeing it in any form continues to unnerve him. It sets off a series of red flags, his pulse ticking even higher, spikes of anxiety lodging in his mind like thrown darts missing their mark, his mouth drying up as if he’s suddenly got a mouthful of sand in his mind and body.

A single tug and all his built-up confidence and enjoyment of the gauntlet is unraveled. He darts a sideways glance at Rythian. 

There’s a cold fury burning in his eyes, that could have struck an instinctive fear into the hearts of anyone who dares to challenge him. It certainly stifles any of Lalna’s future initiatives to go against whatever he’s asking.

Had they been fighting flesh and blood foes, they’d be having second thoughts about fighting them once they’d caught sight of Rythian.

Rythian yanks another bandit over. Much to Lalna’s relief, he doesn’t shear this one in half but moves to punch them. The bandit reacts by ducking under his arm and slamming the butt of their gun right into Rythian’s gut. Rythian lets out a pained sound, doubling over, clearly having not expected that.

He’s never been hit like that before or risked doing something so daring. Either he’s more wound up than he’s letting on or something else is going on, to Lalna’s eyes.

Automatically, Lalna aims and pulls the trigger, saving Rythian from further pain. Blood flies out in a red arc as the body falls like a dead weight carelessly thrown aside, away from him.

A grateful look is thrown his way but just like that, the fury is back in Rythian’s eyes, as if he didn’t like needing the help. Lalna forgoes the idea that he’ll ever get along with him again, not without some major, reconstructive surgery in regards to their relationship.

“Why are they hitting so hard?” Rythian mutters, under his breath that Lalna barely manages to catch by accidentally drifting closer, within earshot. 

“Do they always hit this hard?” Lalna asks before he can help himself.

“I don’t think they’re supposed to,” Rythian muses out loud. “Ravs told me that they’re on the easiest setting while he was picking up Will.”

“That does _not_ seem that easy.” Lalna points to a skag the size of a dump truck, its hide glowing a vivid green offset every now and again by bluish sheen marking it as a digital foe. 

He and Rythian’s eyes search for Nanosounds, eyes widening when they can’t find her. She’s vanished from her cover. When the two look up, she’s drawing the giant skag’s attention away from them.

“Cover me!” She shouts.

Lalna moves to do so, fearing that she’s going to run out of room far too quickly. There’s not enough open ground in the area they’re in to move around comfortably, penned in by rocks and high unscalable walls. If they all take on that skag together, they can take it down before anything happens.

A hand on his arm stops him from charging in to provide the cover she needs.

“We need to think about how to attack that skag,” are Rythian’s calm words laced with an tranquil fury (and every fibre of Lalna’s being scream ‘flee’ from his touch).

“She’s in trouble, we can’t just sit here and do nothing-” Lalna automatically protests. He might hate her right now but she’s in _danger_. Why can’t Rythian see that and put his hate aside, just for once, like he’s doing right now?

“Honestly, she’s been the cause of our troubles far too many times.” It’s a simple statement but it’s enough to set Lalna’s blood boiling. Are they really wasting time with this bullshit, right here and right now? Every second is a second that he could be using to back her up.

“And every single time, she’s helped us get out of it!” He argues. Never mind that he’d been the one who’d argued the exact opposite with her, back in the dam. And never mind that it hasn’t sunk into her head (or maybe it had, more than he thinks).

“Are you really defending her right now, Lalna?” Rythian makes a scoffing sound. If his words had a physical appearance, frost would have clung to them.

“Yes, I am!” Lalna yanks his arm out of his grip (missing his surprised look) and charges in after the skag and Nanosounds. The skag has since chased Nanosounds to the very edge of the area, trapping her between it and the shield stopping anyone from leaping off the edge. 

Her tattoos are pulsing, sweat from having run such a short distance and evading the skag’s lunges trickling down her head, face and arms. It stings her eyes but she doesn’t dare look away or blink. 

She doesn’t summon anything, resisting the instinct to use her powers to save herself (because what if she hurts Lalna or Rythian this time, having struck the former once, indirectly). It’s taking everything she has to not give in to that intoxicating urge, a cork stopper in a bottle that’s about to shatter because the glass alone isn’t enough to contain the pressure building up from having been shaken far too much.

The gun in her hand is empty, all her ammo spent and far too scarce. Her shield’s taken enough hits from the skag’s swipes as she’d tried to dodge. It’s not going to recharge in time. 

Fuck, she’d driven herself into a corner because of her own actions. The others had failed her. This is how she goes out: fighting. Well, she wouldn’t have it any other way, refusing to simply roll over and die. She’d tried her best and look at what it’d come to, a flip of the coin, a roll of the dice, a spinning wheel about to stop turning.

She spies Lalna raising his gun to open fire, now coming to her aid, but it’s too late. She closes her eyes, accepting her fate.

The skag leans down and bites her head off. If it’d been real, it would have very much been her permanent death. Since it’s a digistructed enemy, all she feels is a ghostly sensation that’s a little bit ticklish. She’s now dead, though. 

Her HUD flashes ‘DEAD’ in red letters, over and over again. She opens her eyes to watch what now goes down after her death. When Ravs had picked up Will, he’d explained that once any of them ‘died’, they’re not allowed to interfere in any way or they’ll be forced to restart.

The skag shakes its head like it’d just mauled her and tossed her remains aside, turning to deal with Lalna, a new thorn in its side.

Lalna screams her name out loud (the first time he’s used her name in days, without any sort of sarcasm or disdain behind it). In his rage, he starts to shoot the skag but its hide proves too thick, bullets simply bouncing off it like raindrops on a metal roof.

Annoyed, the skag opens its mouth, green bubbling in its throat. Rythian charges in, coming up behind Lalna, teleporting him out of the way of the acid it spits. The acid hits Rythian’s outstretched arm, the side of his face and his chest instead, his expression drawing into a grimace from the foul substance.

Just like that, Rythian dies, a cloud of green appearing to eat away at him. If it’d been real, all that acid would have eaten straight through his clothes, skin and muscle down to his very bones, melting them as well until there’s nothing but a misshapen shell of a human left.

But it’s not real. All the same, Rythian falls into a crouch with a grim expression, closing his eyes like he’s regretting having risked his own neck to save Lalna. His gun vanishes from his side, no longer needed. It’s like he knows that this is a fight they can’t win, even if he hadn’t saved Lalna.

And he’s right.

The skag charges, pinning one disorientated and distressed Lalna to the ground with one clawed paw. Lalna shoots it in the mouth, but it closes its maw in time. It patiently waits, anticipating the moment when he’ll run out of ammo and is forced to reload. Precisely two seconds later, that happens. 

The gun falls out of Lalna’s hand. He throws both arms over his head as the skag leans down and devours him while he’s still alive. Or would have. The moment those ghostly jaws close over his upper body, the skag’s form glitches, then fades.

‘DEAD’ flashes in his eyes. He lays there, spread-eagled on the ground for a few moments, unable to believe that he’d just ‘died’, listening to his pulse race inside of his head, his life having flashed before his eyes. What a shit way to go, he idly thinks, gritting his teeth in frustration. 

Now they have to fucking _restart_ and there’s no way in hell he’s going to redo the course with _her_ or _him_. Will, he’s willing to work with. If Will isn’t disgusted by that sorry display of teamwork, that is.

“You three are now dead,” Ravs calmly informs them via ECHO, his voice crackling briefly. “That’s enough, you three come back to the control room.” A gate opens in the area, allowing them a way up to him.

Rythian dusts himself off and leaves without looking at the other two, already halfway to the gate by the time the other two move.

“Why are we so _bad_ at this,” Lalna bitterly mutters to himself as he gets to his feet.

Whatever frustration Rythian’s feeling is offset by Ravs’ bewilderment once the three enter the control room. Will is reclining on the lone couch in the room, looking better than he did fifteen minutes ago. He’s not clutching his leg anymore and his face is no longer contorted in pain. There’s a frown on his face, though.

He’d seen what had gone down, having watched the monitor with an unshakeable feeling of resignation that’d been there from the second he’d walked into the gauntlet. He’s not angry, he’s just disappointed, especially in himself for not being there to help and in them, for letting him down.

“I don’t understand, you faced down an OP8 skag when it should have been…” Ravs muses out loud. He really doesn’t understand how all those settings had mysteriously changed on their own. “Even then, you shouldn’t be having that much difficulty even if they are set to that...”

“Ravs?” Rythian says his name in a sugary sweet tone. It’s nice of Ravs to have that much faith in them but faith can only carry one so far.

“Yes, Rythian?” Ravs glances up to see an unimpressed Rythian standing next to him.

“Why don't you and Teep run the course, then, while it’s set as it is?”

“Don’t tell me you’re that salty about dying,” Ravs brightly points out but he’s not stupid. He knows that Rythian is reaching the end of his patience and exactly how to deal with it. “You’ve learned a valuable lesson about-”

“Gee, I don’t _know_ , it seems like we weren’t supposed to have any difficulty fighting foes that are way too _powerful_ for our current expertise and how everyone’s currently _operating_!” Rythian shouts at the top of his voice as his eyes blaze with the fury of a blue star in its prime. 

If looks could kill, Ravs would be dead on the spot.

Much to the astonishment of everyone who’s watching (with the exception of Teep, who shakes their head as if they’d expected it), Ravs starts to laugh like Rythian’s just told a fantastic joke, his laughter coming out in full bursts, downplaying his outburst. It confuses Rythian. It’s not like Ravs to belittle him like this, especially in front of people. 

What is he planning…? When Ravs stops laughing, there’s a challenging glint in his eye. It’s the exact look he gets when he’s about to brawl.

It doesn’t escape Rythian's notice that there’s a familiar edge to the air, the kind that appears when someone’s about to die or be beaten within an inch of their life, like back when Xephos had challenged Teep to a duel. It’s not like Ravs either to be the cause of it, unless he’s intimidating someone into doing what he wants.

“And show you how it’s properly done?” Ravs grins, cracking both of his knuckles together, almost causing the air itself to crack as well. “It’ll be my _pleasure_.” He strides out of the room. “Come on, Teep, we have work to do.”

Teep unfolds themself from the wall they’d been leaning against. Before they leave the room, they level a long, neutral look at Nanosounds. She doesn’t know what they’re doing, staring at her like that. She swallows, barely managing to do so, unable to look away. 

The edge in the air is being pointed straight at her, a newly sharpened knife at her throat. It cuts in half whatever calm that she’d gathered up to draw around her like a security blanket. She can’t move a finger, can’t even breathe-Teep looks away when Ravs calls out to them, breaking the look.

Just like that, she can breath easy again. What was _that_ all about? She can’t possibly have pissed off them off as well. No, she’s not adding another worry to her current woes. Whatever problem Teep has, it’s likely because they’re annoyed that Ravs is dragging them to run the gauntlet. Yeah, that’s probably it.

Unbeknownst, Teep is glad that she’d been the first to die. It’d been satisfying, like a direct kill. They can settle for that rather than an actual death.

The four Vault Hunters focus on the monitors once Ravs and Teep reach the starting gate. It descends. The two casually saunter in, Teep bearing their favourite sniper rifle on their back. Rythian feels a stab of envy inside of him upon seeing it (what a work of art that gun is) and Ravs with nothing but his fists and a shotgun, for now.

Straightaway, two purple skags with unruly manes spawn. They're both the size of a Monster. Behind them, a monstrosity of a Loader armed with multiple canons (that Lalna can’t help but admire) back them up. It’s immediately clear that these three foes definitely outrank the ones that they, the Vault Hunters, had fought.

Is there really a world of that much difference between the four of them, compared to Ravs and Teep? None of them can believe it, not until these two prove it. Except for Rythian but even then, he assumes that in the time he’d stopped working alongside the two, either they’ve gotten rusty like him due to becoming lax or have kept their skills sharp.

It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if it’s the latter. Regardless, these two can’t possibly survive unless they take it seriously, though it would appear that they are.

Teep’s sniper rifle is already in their hands, drawing it up as they aim. Ravs charges forward, drawing the skags’ attention to him, dodging their bites with unexpected agility, continually running circles around them. 

For every snap of their jaws, Ravs empties his shotgun into their open mouths. He somehow manages to reload on the fly, never stopping his strafing or movements for a single second, fully aware of his surroundings and adjusts accordingly. Teep backs him up by shooting the skags in the mouth, never missing a chance whenever their jaws split to try to take a bite out of Ravs.

Ravs always drags the skags’ attention back to him if they decide to go after Teep, getting in their way and being a bigger nuisance that they’re forced to focus on instead.

Slowly but surely, the two are both whittling down the skags’ health until the skags are limping along the ground, whining and mouths dripping blood.

A few shots from the sniper rifle Teep is using finishes off the skags once Ravs leads them towards Teep. The two of them reload, ducking behind the building that serves as cover once the Loader spots them and starts opening fire in their direction.

Teep switches their sniper rifle for a pistol, letting off several rounds succession that paint the Loader’s chassis a deep purple. Slagged rounds, Lalna realizes (remembering faintly what Xephos had told him). A second later, Ravs follows up their shots by unloading the entire clip from an assault rifle. Underneath that combined assault, the Loader collapses in a heap of metal, no longer a threat.

Lalna mourns its death but he can’t take his eyes off away from the monitors. The next area will definitely wipe them out, he thinks. There’s too many enemies that spawn and there’s only two of them to contend with that many.

Not that he’s not rooting for Ravs, of course. He is, but still being annoyed like Rythian over having lost the course in a spectacular fashion, it’d be nice to see if Ravs is just bluffing.

Ravs moves towards one of the rocky overhangs, turning so that his back is to it. He holds out an empty hand, nodding to Teep. Teep despawns their sniper rifle and starts running towards Ravs. Lalna can’t help but gasp because it seems like Teep is about to slam straight into Ravs. 

At the last second, Teep steps onto Ravs’ waiting hand. He grits his teeth, throwing them upwards, high into the air. They extend both hands out to grab the cliff’s edge and haul themselves up, gesturing the success of their climb to him. Ravs flashes a thumbs-up, moving into position besides some rocks.

Teep makes themself comfortable from their new perch, their sniper rifle reappearing in their hands. Just in time, as the next round of enemies have finished digistructing, the first of them being surveyors. A single shot from Teep is enough to take care of them, taking them out before they can cause further problems.

Ravs and Teep appear to read each other’s minds, predicting one another’s movements and behaviour, so in sync that words are entirely unnecessary. If Lalna hadn’t seen the way they usually behaved, he wouldn’t have thought that they’d be capable of this level of teamwork.

Needless to say, he envies that _so much_. The others do too, judging by the identical expressions he’s seeing when he looks away from the monitors and at them. Rythian’s expression differs slightly. There’s a sliver of nostalgia to be found embedded in it. 

He sees Lalna looking and it’s gone, smothered beneath a disguise of impassiveness like he’s pretending not to be impressed. It’s not hard to see that he really is.

Already, the area’s cleared when Lalna looks back up.

Teep is leaping down from the overhang, rolling as they hit the ground and coming out of it in a jog to catch up to Ravs. By the entrance to the next area, Ravs is cracking open an ammo crate, dispensing ammo as needed. Teep catches the pack tossed their way and reloads. Instead of moving on, the two of them take thirty seconds to down water and eat rations.

The two of them exchange easygoing banter, their guns set aside for the time being. Sweat glistens along Ravs’ forehead, chest and arms. Teep has partially undone the zipper to their jacket, revealing more wrappings and t-shirt (that Lalna can’t quite make out the pattern of) peeking out underneath. Both are breathing hard. Still, appearing to be enjoying themselves.

Why didn’t he and the other Vault Hunters do _that_? Rest, that is. Lalna almost smacks his forehead because that’s _genius_. 

Clearly Ravs and Teep know that the enemies won’t spawn until they walk in, so they can take as much time as they need between rounds to heal up or whatever. He should have noticed that sooner but hadn’t. Nanosounds had kept going without stopping to let them or herself catch a breather.

They’d assumed that there’d be a time limit when there’d never been one to begin with. Maybe one of the reasons they’d failed and why Will Strife had struggled to keep up and had paid the price in the end: failing to take into account each other’s conditions, even mid-fight.

Their thirty seconds of downtime over, Teep and Ravs continue onwards, wreaking a path of destruction through the next two areas, pausing between each one to rest.

At some point, Teep almost nails Ravs in the head with a distant shot that instantly kills a Nomad that’s giving Ravs difficulty. Ravs grabs and hurls a boulder at Teep in apparent irritation. They roll out of the way. The boulder comes apart where they’d been standing several seconds ago. 

When they come out of the roll, they flip Ravs the middle finger, proceeding to almost nail him in the head with every shot after. He just starts throwing enemies behind cover, preventing them from scoring headshots.

Even while trolling one another, they’re still taking care of each other, teaming up whenever it’s needed. They’ve already progressed through seven areas when he and the other Vault Hunters had only done four in the same amount of time.

How is it that they’re doing in so little time what took the four (well, three at the time) of them so long to do? And in the face of such odds stacked up against them? Including all those enemies, some of which Lalna’s never seen or faced before.

In his chest, Lalna can feel a newfound pride and respect forming for the two. He _wants_ to be as good as they are, not just for the skills and benefits but to _protect_. He’s had enough of being protected. Now he wants to do the protecting, even if it’s just himself he’s protecting. He’s spent so long running on Pandora that it’s about high time he stopped.

He’s had the right tools (Larry Robert and guns) from the start. He just needs to figure out the _how_ part. Fine tune it and yet, leave it so that it’s adaptable. If he’s not actually doing the killing, Larry Robert can do so, in his place.

He finds that his psyche is growing to agree with that logic because the only other option is to break down, curl up into the fetal position and lament that he’s not as strong as he thinks he is. Hyperion used Loaders as their mechanized soldiers despite possessing a private army of human soldiers, preferring to send out Loaders to subjugate first.

This isn’t any different, right? 

Just no more bodies under his name. _Please_ (but that might as well be a fruitless prayer).

The problem is that he can only play around with Larry Robert’s programming so much before his Loader breaks and is rendered nonfunctional from his tampering. A Loader’s programming is static, up to a certain point. Inflexible, not at all elegant or suited for Larry Robert’s newfound purpose as a stand-in for killing.

This is probably the part where he should contact Xephos and see how their chat with Zylus is going about tracking down that military A.I.; Lalna has a feeling that it’d be a very good idea to take up Xephos on their offer of one at long last.

If they ever find one, that is. He’ll do that once Ravs and Teep have finished with their run of Digistruct Peak (the two of them in the middle of another gunfight), too afraid to look away again because he doesn’t want to miss a _thing_.

\--

They’ve been on the road for _hours_ now. Honeydew is literally sick of seeing nothing but sand on the horizon, sand underneath them, in the light runner and there’s sand, well, in his boots and unmentionables. If he thwapped his beard, sand would probably fall out of there as well. Turned his head on its side? Sand would definitely come pouring out of his ears as well.

Right now, he’s craving grass. Tufts of lovely, green grass that are soft under his feet, cool and wet, not this coarse, grainy shit sand that gets in everywhere even if he took enormous care not to go anywhere near that fucking ocean full of it where the heat obliterates even the slightest bit of moisture or vegetation.

Except for sweat because it’s awesome like that. He’s lost count of how many time he’s wiped the sweat off his brow, only for the grains of sand clinging to him to stick to his hand and face as a result.

Just to top off how fantastic his day is progressing, his skin’s reddened to the exact shade of a cooked crustacean’s shell, a sure-fire sign of sunburn. Oh, the things he puts up with, for Xephos.

“Are we there _yet_?” He impatiently asks for what is likely the millionth time. He expects Xephos to curtly respond with ‘No, not yet!’, following it up with a rant about being patient and just keep an eye out for anything that might come after them. But this time, it’s different. 

Xephos lets out a joyful sound, a rush of exhilarated breath and excitedly shouts, “Yes, we are!”

“Finally! How nice of us to return.” Honeydew cranes his head back to see the sign above their head flash by (barely making out the lone ‘one’ painted on it) before snapping his head around to face the front. 

The highway leads into a town on struts and pillars, a series of buildings piled together on top of a concrete island sitting out in the middle of a desert ocean. It’s _sanctuary_. Nothing’s changed since they’d walked through these streets.

Wait, okay, something’s changed in T-Bone Junction. There’s no people walking around, for one thing. The last time Honeydew and Xephos were here, there was definitely more people. People rendered almost comatose from the heat but people, regardless. The machines parked in the shade and hibernating under shelter from the sun don’t count.

“Where is everybody?” Xephos muses. Well, at least it’s easier finding parking with the lack of vehicles. They steer down a road that curves into a roundabout, near the building with ‘Fast Travel’ printed on a sign above it.

“Must all be inside due to the heat. I don’t blame them,” Honeydew grouses, fanning himself with his hat before dropping it back on his head. Ew, his hat’s gone all sticky too, the brim soaked through to the stitching.

Xephos pulls into a random parking space and climbs out, all too glad to finally be free of the cramped driver’s seat. They’re never sitting that long without standing ever again, both legs stiff and sore all over. Honeydew peels himself off the turret’s leather seat with a crinkling sound reminiscent of unwrapping melted candy that’s gone all sticky from out of its plastic packaging.

“Christ almighty, my poor _ass_ ,” Honeydew moans as he climbs over the railing, sliding down the side of the light runner onto his feet. Muscles he didn’t know existed in his behind have gone completely numb, impervious to any sort of feeling, including being prodded at.

“If you wanted to stop and walk around for a bit, I did offer, you know,” Xephos hotly observes, “About, oh, _fifteen_ times, so you’ve no right to complain about a sore bum.” 

If their own offer would have done them some good, they hadn’t accepted it mostly because they’d been so eager to reach T-Bone Junction. If sleep deprivation, leg cramps, thirst, hunger and pee breaks weren’t a problem, they’d have been content to keep driving without a single break. 

Honeydew had ensured they the two of them had stopped for all of the above, largely for his own benefit that Xephos had piggybacked off of.

“I didn’t realize you were keeping such a close eye on my ass,” Honeydew retorts, beginning to feel something resembling a twinge return to his behind.

“That’s not what I meant!” Xephos tries to sound outraged but fails horribly, instead sounding mortified.

“I don’t know what else you could possibly mean.” Honeydew gives Xephos an innocent look, rapidly batting his eyelashes for added effect.

Xephos manages a choked laugh, unable to explain because it’s _Honeydew_ they’re talking to. He’s liable to talk the two of them into nonsensical circles at worst. At best, he’ll just let it go without too much of an argument.

It’s then that he notices a familiar, uniformed figure standing off to one side, watching them. They’re amused, and yet, unsure about whether or not to interrupt, content to watch until being noticed.

“You!” Honeydew shouts, pointing an accusing finger at Zylus. Xephos almost has a heart attack, falling against the light runner and clutching their chest, looking between the two with mild shock.

“Me?” Zylus asks, raising a hand to point to himself, grinning and looking even more amused.

“Yes, you! I remember you, you’re that pilot who gave us a lift to this shithole!” Honeydew straightens up, tugging their pants up (suppressing a tiny cringe at all the sand particles scraping against their delicate bits that second). “So thanks for that.” He shoots an equally amused grin at Zylus, straightening up. It doesn’t make much of a difference to his height.

Having recovered from their shock, Xephos leans over to smack down Honeydew’s hand. “Don’t point, it’s rude.” To Zylus, they eagerly say, “Just the person I wanted to talk to, so-”

Zylus holds up a hand, interrupting them. “And here I am. The temperature’s about to hit the maximum for the day, so let’s go inside. We can talk there.” He walks off in the direction of one of the buildings, clearly assuming that they’ll follow without argument.

He’s right. Honeydew can feel the temperature start to crawl upwards by several degrees as the sun reaches its peak position in the sky. At this rate, Xephos might as well brush him over with a glaze and stick him in an oven to cook for the next few hours, that’s how bad his sunburn is going to be if he doesn’t get indoors.

He hurriedly trots after Zylus, trying to match his long strides (goddamned tall people and their long legs), Xephos bringing up the rear after despawning their ride.

The inside of the building is a godsend, a paradise of a heaven compared to the literal hell of the outdoors. Whatever cooling system is set up has rendered the air inside to perfect temperature. Honeydew inhales as much of the cool air as possible, feeling his lungs appreciate it just as the rest of him does. 

Zylus leans out from a side room, gesturing them into it.

The two sit down in the cluttered but somehow orderly room as he walks off into the kitchen. Honeydew takes the chance to adjust his pants so that the worst of the sand doesn’t scratch him as much before sitting down. His legs barely touch the floor but he doesn’t mind, just soaking up the cold and relaxing.

Xephos is too busy staring in awe at all the storage units neatly lining the edges of the room. He counts about ten of them in total. A single one can hold about the contents of about a hundred digistruct modules. How much _stuff_ does he have, to own this many units? It can’t all be his.

There’s two broken surveyors on the table nearby, fins being set into place with some sort of heavy duty, clear paste. With the tips of their fingers (as if afraid to disturb everything else), Xephos picks up one of the tools to examine it. It’s a fine-tipped screwdriver, the tip dainty enough to fill them with envy and longing. 

Most of their tools had been misplaced in the rush to leave their former corporation that’s now J.A.F.F.A. (formerly Honeydew Inc.). The only tools they possess now are a basic computer scientist’s practical kit, basic tools intended to take apart a system but nothing intended for finer and more delicate work. Like taking apart surveyors that have incredibly intricate interiors.

To them, it’d be like smashing a circuit board with a hammer instead of approaching it with a soldering iron. Xephos reluctantly puts the screwdriver back, exactly where it was. They think Zylus wouldn’t have minded but it’s better to be safe than sorry, given what they’re here for.

Zylus returns with a pitcher filled to the brim of water and empty, clean glasses, carefully setting them in front of his two guests. Much to Honeydew’s delight, he digistructs an unopened box of checkerboard cookies (the treat itself a rare find but always worth it when he came across them) and tears the packet open, leaving it on the table as well.

Honeydew downs one whole glass of water in almost one go and pours himself another one, water trickling down his beard and soaking his bare chest. Bless Zylus.

Xephos tosses Honeydew a look as if to warn him not to be so greedy but he is excellent at pretending that he’s not being looked at, especially by Xephos, of all people. Zylus seems pleased with how well-recieved his hospitality is, remaining standing.

“You should drink too,” Honeydew points out, taking two cookies at once. He puts one back (but vows ‘I’ll come back for you, friend’) upon seeing Xephos’ look hardening a fraction.

“Oh no, help yourselves all you want, I’m fine,” Zylus says, giving a modest shake of his head. “Excuse me, I have to check up on something.” He leaves the room at a brisk walk.

Xephos slowly sips at their glass of water. They reach out to risk plucking a cookie out of the box, taking small, measured bites just to show that they’re not as messy as Honeydew is. One of them has to appear well-behaved or at least give off the impression.

Still, the water is cool and drinkable, always welcome. It’s subtle, but it doesn’t taste boiled or overtreated.

If they had to guess, Zylus has an excellent filtration system. Also, the cookies are _delicious_. Crumbly, the flavor a mix of butter and cocoa, not too sweet and it melts in in the mouth. Corvax definitely hadn’t served up _cookies_ as part of the feast Honeydew had made off with.

Ah, but they’re not here to sit around, have tea and eat cookies. Zylus returns at that moment, settling in a chair next to Xephos. Xephos clears their throat, brushing the crumbs off their coat and lap with a hand and leaves their empty glass on the table.

“So, you wanted to talk to me about something?” Zylus asks with a note of curiosity in his voice. He gives them a mild look but Xephos has a gut feeling that he’s dying to know what they want from him.

“Yes, I did,” Xephos explains, “I wasn’t able to relay what exactly I wanted to talk to you about since the reception was atrocious a while back.” Good grief, they'd even been surprised that they'd been able to call him from inside a dam.

“I got that much,” Zylus even says, ever so patient.

“Did you ever happen to have an A.I.-” Xephos manages to narrowly avoid biting their tongue as Zylus leans forward. He claps a hand onto their mouth the moment the word ‘A.I.’ leaves Xephos. Honeydew stares but is unable to stop munching on his sixth cookie, crumbs sticking to his face and falling into his beard.

Zylus darts a cautious glance at the doorway of the room, tensing up. It’s almost as if he expects someone to appear there, a foreboding shadow crossing over his face. It’s such a jarring contrast to his earlier, welcoming and accommodating appearance that Xephos is unsure if it’s the same person they’re looking at.

They don’t dare smack his hand away for fear of what he’ll do. Their eyes slide over to Honeydew, over the top of Zylus’ rough, calloused fingers. Honeydew appears to be on the same wavelength, not daring to move or react.

When nobody barges into the room, Zylus visibly relaxes and takes his hand away from Xephos’ mouth.

“Let’s talk somewhere else,” He casually says. Still, Xephos can’t help but interpret his words as cryptic. 

Zylus rises from his seat, waiting to see if they follow. The tenseness has completely drained from his frame, like he’s forcing himself to remain as calm as possible. Unable to do anything else but obey, Xephos and Honeydew follow, not wanting to find out the consequences of refusing.

Before following, Honeydew steals another three cookies, shoving two of them into his beard for later eating (never mind that they’ll be kind of sweaty and dirty later, they’re _cookies_ ). He devours the last one as quickly but stealthily as possible (hoping Xephos doesn’t notice their greedy pilfering).

Zylus takes them to the outskirts of town towards a lone building. The destination unnerves Xephos and Honeydew. Zylus punches in the code to the building, opening the door. He holds the it open for the other two to enter first.

Honeydew’s skin rises in goosebumps. The room is cold, colder than he’d thought. It’s almost as cool as the other building but the drop in the temperature here is slightly more than that, seemingly deliberate. He stays close to Xephos so that his friend is in arm’s reach. One of his hands come up to rest on top of his digistruct modules.

He almost jumps out of his skin when the door closes with a creak that sounds far too loud for the small, closed-in space of the barely lit room, Zylus moving to stand in front of the door, blocking off the only exit.

“How do you know about the A.I. Core?” He evenly asks, the reflection of his monocle not fully hiding his mechanical eye’s glow. His remaining eye has an appraising, alert glint to it that wasn’t there before.

“What? We just came to ask-” Honeydew says, not liking the change one bit and puzzled by what Zylus is asking. They know jack shit about technology and really, they should be letting Xephos do the talking since this is their department.

At that moment, for some explicit reason, Xephos has frozen on the spot they’re standing, coming to a timely conclusion they’d been turning over in their head ever since they’d walked out of the other building.

Their eyes widen. They grab Honeydew’s arm, squeezing it. It doesn’t quite hurt despite Xephos’ bony fingers digging right into Honeydew’s skin, leaving small red marks. “You’ve got one, an A.I. Core,” Xephos breathes, “That’s why you reacted the way you did.”

“No, I don’t,” Zylus firmly says. There’s something odd about the way he says that, which gives them pause. Call it a gut feeling, the innate lie detector that’s currently tripping beacons of ‘high alert’ in both Xephos and Honeydew’s minds.

“You’re hiding something,” Honeydew swiftly points out, hoping Zylus will just be blunt about having it or not and shut down Xephos.

The sooner they’re done with this, the sooner they can _leave_ because he feels like there’s something watching them all the more closely once Xephos had said ‘A.I. Core’. And it’s not Zylus. Almost as if Xephos can read Honeydew’s mind, they push him out of the way to take over the talking. He lets them, letting his gaze drift around the room for whatever is watching them.

“The frigate once had an A.I. Core but it’s now bunk,” Zylus bluntly says, crossing his arms over his chest and giving them a stern look, as if they’re treading on thin ice.

“Do you have it?” Xephos asks, skating forwards without hesitation. “I’d like to take a look at it and see if any of the programming can be salvaged.”

“No, I got rid of it a long time ago.”

“Wait, but that means you did have at some point!” Xephos counters, almost demanding. “Where did you get rid of it, it might still be there-”

There’s a long, tense pause where Honeydew thinks, this is it, _please end it now_ , before both Xephos and Zylus really butt heads and he’s caught in the middle.

“It’s pointless to ask,” Zylus finally says in a neutral tone that sounds like he’s carefully choosing his words. It feels and sounds like he’s rehearsed this conversation in his head countless times before.

“Why?” Honeydew reaches over to tug on Xephos’ coat, a silent, desperate plea to ‘drop it, there’s no point to this, let’s just _go_ ’. Xephos dismissively swats his hand away without taking their eyes off Zylus.

”It’s been nine years since I destroyed that core to stop someone from getting their hands on it,” Zylus softly says. “Nothing’s left of it. I made sure of that.” He gives a tired sigh, scrubbing his face with a hand, avoiding the right side of his face to not dislodge his monocle. “I’m sorry I can’t help you and I think it’s time you left.”

On one of the wall monitors, a Drifter passes under T-Bone Junction, close to one of the concrete pillars. One of the turrets on the pillars opens fire on it, causing it to shriek and retreat once it realizes that the turret is out of stabbing range.

Xephos watches that particular monitor with interest. “No self-defence system should be that accurate on its own,” He quietly observes. “Turrets usually miss hitting critical spots, which wasn’t what I just saw happen.”

“The programs that run this town’s self-defence system are contained inside this building,” Zylus simply says. “Now can you please leave?” He sounds pained, like he doesn’t want to ask again, nicely. Honeydew tugs again on Xephos’ coat, hoping that they’ll get the hint this time.

“Can I see them?” Xephos perks up, dismissing Honeydew’s gesture again. Honeydew grinds his teeth in frustration. 

Trust them to find some other way of meeting their goal, their stubbornness cranked to the maximum. They’ve come this far, might as well get something else to compensate them for their failure and if they don’t have an A.I. Core, those programs might suffice instead.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have access to them.”

“What you mean you don’t have ‘access’, you’re the only person in town! It’s just a matter of...” Xephos goes on to ramble about ‘backdoors’ and ‘universal accesses’ that appears lost on Zylus. Honeydew doesn’t blame him one bit, about to kick Xephos in the back of the legs and drag them out if he doesn’t _shut up_.

“I really don’t have access to them,” Zylus insists. How the fuck does he have this much patience? If it’d been Honeydew, he’d have simply kicked himself and Xephos out of town five minutes ago.

“If I can’t get you the accesses and have a look at the programs, we’ll leave. _Peacefully._ Deal?” Xephos watches the conflicting emotions play out over Zylus’ face for the next three seconds.

“Fine.” Clearly thinking that it’s better to give them what they want instead of arguing about it for the next ten minutes, Zylus moves to open another door. And Honeydew think he’s being too generous, especially after the the way he and Xephos had behaved.

This door lets him and Xephos into a room full of monitors. He gapes at the sheer number of them. They’re practically set into almost every surface of the room save for the floor and ceiling. There’s even monitors mounted on the pillar located in the middle of the room. There’s wires everywhere, snaking across the floor and bundled together with cable ties; the two make sure not to trip on anything, despite the tape stopping just that from happening.

The room’s appearance appears not to bother Xephos. In fact, it appears to delight them, their eyes lighting up. They head straight for the only chair in the room, sitting down and wheeling themself over to one of the consoles. Zylus closes the door and moves to keep the two in his line of sight, his expression impassive.

Xephos spawns their keyboard, bringing up their HUD to wirelessly hook it up to the console.

Their usual method of hacking is blocked almost instantly, the monitor above them ominously flashing ‘ACCESS DENIED’ in red, capital letters. They frown and try again, opting for a different method. They fail. 

They grit their teeth and sit up straight, leaning over the console to try again. Clearly the system means business or whoever wrote the security system knew what they were doing. A system this old and isolated from the ECHOnet has to have a weakness _somewhere_. They concentrate on finding it, blocking out everything else but the task ahead of them.

Honeydew glances furtively around the room from watching Xephos grow steadily more frustrated. By chance,they see an inhuman face watching with clear interest from one of the overhead monitors. He shrieks and starts, accidentally barreling straight into Xephos’ chair as he scrambles back.

Xephos grunts from the impact and mistypes a command. For the twentieth time, ‘ACCESS DENIED’ flashes at them on the monitor.

“Fuck- _Honeydew_!” Xephos grounds out, spinning in the chair to glare at Honeydew. They’d been so _close_ and then he had to go ahead and _interrupt_.

“There’s a face on the monitor!” Honeydew quickly jabs a finger at said monitor and oh, how his poor heart is currently in overdrive, blood thumping in his ears, indistinguishable from his frantic heartbeat.

When Xephos and Zylus calmly look where he’s pointing, there’s an innocuous feed of the desert on that particularly monitor. As if on cue, tumbleweed blows from one side of the screen to the next. 

“You’re just overimagining things. You’ve been standing in the heat too long,” Xephos simply says, wheeling back over to the console and muttering angrily under their breath about ‘lost progress and the nerve of that clumsy oaf’.

Honeydew growls at being called a ‘clumsy oaf’ because they’re not deaf. He darts an accusing glance at Zylus (who looks increasingly wary, which doesn’t make any sense, not at the time in Honeydew’s mind). 

“You didn’t tell us you lived in a fucking ghost town!” He snaps at him.

> I’ll have you know that ghosts are entirely fictional and do not form towns, singular or plural.

That message pops up on the monitor Xephos is sitting at, just above their line of sight since they’re busy staring at their keyboard, trying to remember what they’d last done. They spot it, read it and shove away from the console, staggering unsteadily out of the chair, eyes widening.

“What is _this_? What’s going on?” They breathe, unable to process the message. 

No system should be that self-aware or conscious, but it’s not just any _normal_ system they’re dealing with, a tiny, awed voice at the back of their mind points out. 

Pieces fall into place, unveiling irregularities and dispelling them. Xephos’ mind starts to reel from the discovery, unable to believe that that they’d been looking for had been right under their noses (and everyone else’s) the entire time.

> I would also prefer it if you stopped trying to hack into me. It’s becoming a nuisance.

Xephos and Honeydew turn to Zylus with identical looks of shock on their faces. “You lied to us,” Honeydew quietly says, not sure whether to be impressed for having the guts to lie to their faces or be upset with him for having wasted their time.

“You _were_ hiding an A.I. Core. all this time.” Xephos’ mind is still trying to get to grips with the revelation that there’s an A.I. right in front of them.

> With good reason.

The bigger question on Xephos’ mind now is ‘how long had he been hiding it?’, since the turrets around town had been present at the time they and Honeydew had arrived. It explains so much. So much that Xephos can’t believe that he’d managed to keep it hidden for so long, especially in a town that’d originally been teeming with so many people.

How the fuck had he managed to sneak it into his building, set up everything and not attract attention as he’d gone about town and wired it all up to the A.I.? And kept it hidden after? Xephos can’t help but look at Zylus with evident awe.

The man himself grimaces.

“ _Shit_.” He runs a hand down his face before digistructing a pistol and aiming it at Xephos, who immediately puts their hands up to surrender. “I didn’t want to do this, but…” He sounds unhappy but something inside of them knows that he’ll pull the trigger if he has to. Clearly, it’s not the first time he’s killed someone in cold blood.

“Hey, there’s no need for violence!” Honeydew objects, raising his voice to shout. Zylus calmly turns the pistol on him, shooting a glance at Xephos, the look silently saying ‘don’t try anything stupid’.

Another message from the A.I. appears on the monitor, the figure that Honeydew had seen before accompanying it this time. The figure shakes its head, mouthing the words like they’re actually saying them.

> Zylus, wait. I want to know what they came here for.

“It’s obvious, Bebop, they want you. I’m not letting that happen.” His voice is like tempered steel, a honed edge to it that suggests that even he doesn’t like saying the idea out loud, not-so-subtle implications lurking underneath.

Xephos realizes with mild horror that they’d sounded like they’d wanted to take the A.I. Core off Zylus as they’d talked; no wonder why he’d been so defensive and eager to get them to leave. He might not want to kill them but he will if he has to, now that they’ve found what he’s been trying to keep hidden.

 _Fuck_.

> At the very least, let them explain themselves and if you don’t like it, you can kill them then.

“I just wanted to install an A.I. into Lalna’s Loader so that it’d work better!” Xephos immediately confesses, not bothering to pause for breath as they press on, “And to know if the myth about Dahl installing military A.I.’s into their warships was true, that’s all! I didn’t want to steal your A.I. or anything!” And now, they stop for air, giving the monitor a pleading look, genuinely regretting having pushed their case.

“Also, Xephos is really into coding, especially coding that belongs to A.I.’s. They just wanted a peek.” Honeydew pauses (oh, that sounds incredibly racy, now that he thinks about it) before cheekily adding, “Yes, they’re a nerd.”

“Yes, I’m a nerd- _Honeydew_ ,” Xephos automatically says but frowns, realizing what they’re saying. They glare at him. Honeydew giggles despite it being entirely inappropriate under the current circumstances.

Zylus doesn’t lower the pistol in his hand, mulling over the two’s words. He finds that he’s not happy with their explanation one bit. He hadn’t liked lying all these years but what else could he have done at the time?

There are plenty of people on Pandora who’d happily take advantage of having a stray Dahl military A.I. or worse. If these two couldn’t keep their mouths shut and the information finds its way back to Daltos, no matter how small the chance, it could _happen_. He’s not going to risk that.

He finds himself wanting to kill these two, no matter how innocuous or noble their intentions are. It’s better that way but if BebopVox disagrees with him despite their loyalty to him, then. That’s _if_ BebopVox disagrees. BebopVox could be unpredictable at times (and he wonders from whom had they picked that up from).

It’s over his dead body that he’ll let them leave T-Bone Junction with the A.I. Core containing BebopVox.

> Lalna? You mean the Vault Hunter who brought Daltos here?

“Yes, he was one of the ones who brought Daltos here, for me,” Zylus confirms, not liking the interested tilt to BebopVox’s head. There’s a contemplative beat.

> Lalna seeks a military A.I. to better their robot companion, is that correct?

Xephos senses that they're being addressed, standing up straight and nodding. “That’s right, if you could just copy yourself or something, that’d be-” They snap their mouth shut, unsure if they’re crossing a line, judging by Zylus’ sudden frown. Scratch that plan. “Never mind, we’ll leave and forget this ever happened,” They quickly say in a small voice.

> I do not normally like being copied, but I’m willing to make an exception, just for Lalna.

“Bebop, you don't have to do this,” Zylus points out.

They don’t want BebopVox to copy themselves and double the risk of being found out, if their copy is going to be roaming the world. If it’s a Vault Hunter that they can trust who’s taking care of the duplicate, the risk is lowered slightly. However, it’s still a risk that Zylus doesn’t like taking. It’d appear that BebopVox has their mind made up though.

> He’s coming here soon, yes?

“I’m taking him to the moon and back, if that’s what you’re referring to.” Well, if BebopVox is fine with it, then he supposes he has to be. He’s not a tyrant like Dahl, rejecting an A.I.’s desires and wants over their needs without prior discussion.

> Xephos and Honeydew? Tell Lalna to bring his Loader here and I will install a copy of myself onto it.

The two don’t know how BebopVox knows their names, only nodding in response, simply just glad that they’ll be leaving T-Bone Junction alive rather than dead. Or whatever Zylus did to people who crossed him. They don’t want to stick around to find out exactly what.

> By the way, if you ever tell anybody else about me, Zylus will hunt you down and bury you alive in a shallow grave.  
> <3

The emote in the message after does nothing to soften the threat. Xephos and Honeydew dare to glance at Zylus, forcing themselves to do so. He smiles a frightening, beautiful smile and they know that BebopVox isn’t joking. 

He lets them out of the building, saying nothing to them. Under his unwavering supervision, the two spawn their light runner at the Catch-A-Ride Station and depart T-Bone Junction. They can feel him watching them until they take a turn and can’t feel the weight of his gaze anymore, blocked by the canyon walls.

On the way back to Sanctuary Hole, alone with their thoughts, Xephos can’t help but think about how useless they’d been. They hadn’t been able to react fast enough to Zylus drawing a gun on them. They’d been entirely helpless, unable to do anything but surrender. Nothing but death on their mind at the time.

The same had occurred during the battle against Teep. They hadn’t been able to predict any of Teep’s movements at all, too caught up in trying to stay alive to do anything more than defend, any attempts at attacking repelled instantly. Against that sort of foe (Zylus falling into the same category), there’d been hardly anything he could do.

The Badass Crater of Badassitude (who even comes up with these _names_ ) arena had been something of an eye-opener despite having emerged victorious from that battle. It’d mostly been Honeydew and Ravs doing all of the work, even if they’d contributed with the laser; they can’t keep relying it to get them out of sticky situations.

Using the laser on T-Bone Junction to force Zylus into cooperating had fleetingly crossed their mind. The second they’d thought of it, they’d crushed it. They’re not a _monster_ (but they might as well be, for having thought of the idea). 

Even if they had tried, Zylus would have probably just shot them without hesitation, then turned the gun on Honeydew. Zylus seemed like that sort of person, the kind to respond to violence with violence.

It’s not that Xephos is that weak of a fighter. They’ve spent several months on Pandora. They’re used to gunning down all manner of enemies if they saw them coming. Unexpected ones are something else. Same with unexpected situations.

There has to be a way to give them some sort of edge over potential foes, without having to rely on the laser since that laser is only good for one shot and what if it misses? Or doesn’t have enough charge at the time? Or there comes a time when they can’t hack into it? 

Hacking into it while on the shuttle ride to Pandora had been a joke but Xephos had liked having a weapon of mass destruction at their disposal, a heck of a confidence boost like nothing else. They’d ended up keeping the backdoor key to the laser instead of destroying it (though they probably should have).

Some sort of insight, to gain information. Knowing what to do with it has always been one of Xephos’ fortes that didn’t exactly get used in combat all that often. If they could get some sort of system up and running to do just that ahead of time (even just a little), it might help them in the future. 

But what sort of system and where should it be placed? If it’s embedded into their HUD, it’ll be useless since there’s barely any time or opportunity to access their HUD once a fight starts. What other tech did they have on them? If it’s in their eyes, no, how ridiculous- _that’s it_. 

“Honeydew, we’re going to see Lalnable,” Xephos declares, breaking the stretch of silence that’d sprung up.

“Oh, him?” Honeydew can’t help but sound disdainful. They’d heard all about him from Nanosounds. He doesn’t like the sound of him one bit or what sort of business Xephos intends to do with him. “This isn’t one of your wild rakk chases, is it?”

No, he’s not going to get started on The Bee, there’s no need to rub it in when Xephos has learned something from that chase. Whether or not he’s learned something from this is debateable.

“No, I want to get an upgrade for my eyes.”

“... _Balls_. And here I thought you were done with hare-brained schemes.” He doesn’t want to hear or know how Xephos had reached wanting an upgrade to their current eyes. Honeydew reaches into his beard to pull out a hair and sand covered cookie, dusting it off and taking a bite out of it. Still tasty.

Xephos had the most advanced eye technology available at the time of installing them. What puzzles Honeydew is that they had perfectly functional eyes to begin with, so why bother replacing them with tech that’ll be obsolete in a decade or so? He’s not Xephos, so he can’t say why they’d made that choice. 

“It’s not a hare-brained scheme, Honeydew. It might be just what we need to survive on Pandora.” The worst part is that Honeydew can’t find it in him to discourage Xephos, perhaps having an inkling as to why. 

They’d seen how Xephos had looked, angry and resigned at being utterly defenceless and helpless, protectiveness seeping into their frame when the gun had been pointed at him.

“Right.” The most he can do is sound skeptical, which they note.

“You’ll see,” Xephos swears with all the resolve that they can muster. They’re doing this not just for them, but also for Honeydew. Never again will they be caught off-guard, they vow.

\--

“It took us…” Ravs checks the time in his HUD, before closing it and announcing in a pleased voice, “One and a half hours to run the gauntlet!” Next to him, Teep’s shoulders shift, giving the impression of the tiniest sigh possible as if they’d expected better. Ravs doesn’t miss it. “We smashed our previous record by about half an hour, so what are you so unhappy about?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie, Teep, it’s unbecoming.”

“Fine. I just didn’t expect you to throw that rock at me halfway through-” Teep starts to sign.

Ravs waits until he’s seen enough before cutting in, sounding indignant. “What else could I do to get you to stop? I mean, _come on_ , sniping _my_ targets and killstealing?” He rolls his eyes, feeling the full force of a glare being directed at him in the second that follows.

“You weren’t bringing them down fast enough so I decided to give you a helping hand,” Teep argues immediately, now allowing him to continue talking. “That was fucking rude. Plus, a _rock_ , really?”

He can’t help but laugh, since how is something like that considered ‘rude’ in Teep’s eyes? “Not like there was anything else around for me to throw.” Teep’s glare doesn’t soften. “And you dodged it! I would have worried more if you hadn’t,” Ravs pointedly adds.

“How about throwing yourself off a cliff?” They sign, the movements of their hands restless with barely suppressed irritation, proceeding to add, “I’m being sarcastic, by the way.”

“Come on, don’t be like that, it was just a mistake,” Ravs cajoles, slinging an arm around Teep’s shoulders, dragging them closer to him. “You’re always trolling me, so it’s hard for me to tell if you’re genuinely trying to help me out for once.” 

Teep says nothing, unmoved by his cajoling. They tense up once Ravs throws an arm around their shoulders, preparing to use their hand to jab him in the abdomen. He notices, now understanding just how serious they’re being and how mad they are.

“I’m sorry.” It’s rare for him to put aside his pride like this to offer a genuinely apology. Thus, Teep instantly knows that he’s not trying to weasel his way back into their good graces just for the sake of pretending that things are okay between them.

They’ve both been in the game long enough to know that anything detrimental to their long-standing partnership requires immediate attention. Not left to fester. Not avoided like there isn’t a problem when it’s right there in front of their faces. Dealt with as soon as possible. 

They might have egos the size of Elpis and clashed constantly over the most ridiculous things, but they’re both considerate enough that if they’ve both crossed a line and the other person's (or the two of them are) unhappy as a result, it’s better to get to the bottom of it.

It’s what probably makes a world of difference in their teamwork and communication when compared to the four Vault Hunters.

Teep relaxes underneath his arm. One of their hands comes up to sign (taking their time to do so), “Sorry for what?” 

“Oh, don’t you _start_ ,” Ravs says, indignant, jostling Teep gently for that.

“I’m not going to accept until you say exactly what that apology is for.”

“I’m sorry for throwing a rock at you and appearing to reject your help, I’m an idiot who’s just all brawn and no brain who doesn’t think about others. Look, I am gutting myself here, so just-” Ravs abruptly stops in confusion because they hold up a hand. 

With their other hand, they unzip their jacket (Ravs spies the dark grey collar of a t-shirt), reaching inside to withdraw an ECHO device and holding it out.

“Can I get you to repeat all that into my ECHO device so I can have a recording for all posterity?”

“ _Fuck you_.” Laughing, Ravs tries to shove Teep into a snowbank, only for them to grab his arm at the last second and swap places with him. His displaced momentum from his shove carries him forward so that he’s the one who ends up falling into said snowbank. 

“No thanks and serves you right.”

He rolls over onto his back, brushing snow out of his hair and off his jacket, giving a soft smile directed at Teep. “We good?”

“We’re good,” Teep stiffly signs, stowing away their ECHO device and zipping their jacket back up. “Let’s go already, it’s too fucking cold out.” They offer him a helping hand.

“Fine, but let’s go and first see if Rythian and the others have managed to pick their jaws up off the floor.” Ravs takes the offered hand, letting Teep haul them to his feet. They follow Teep up the stairs and into the control room.

In the control room, Rythian clears his throat and reluctantly approaches the two. “That was certainly something to watch. Congrats on finishing the course without dying.” He says it evenly, like he’s doesn’t want to give their egos a boost.

“Told you we’d show you how it’s done,” Ravs gloats anyway.

“I hope you took notes,” Teep signs at the same time he speaks. Rythian deadeyes them, turning his gaze from one to the other.

“Anyway, I hope you learned something. Yes, even you, Rythian, so don’t look at me like that. I can individually set up areas so that each of you can do whatever you need to do now.”

“How long are we borrowing this place for?”

“As long as we need to,” Ravs tells him. “‘We’ being you and the others since me and Teep don’t need this place as much.”

Will raises a hand from the couch. “I’m taking you up on that offer of setting up an area, so I’d like to test my turret on some targets.” When Ravs looks at him, Will hurriedly presses on, “If that’s fine. I don’t want to bother you if it’s too much of a hassle.”

“It’s certainly not a bother, Will. One training area coming up...you’re in this area. Try not to have too much fun.” Will coughs as he leaves to avoid making an embarrassed noise at Ravs winking at him.

“Lalna, what about you?”

“Pass. I want to rework my tech so that they’ll be better. And maybe fix Larry Robert.” He tries not to look at Nanosounds when he says that last part. She pretends that the last sentence hadn’t been intended as a deliberate barb at her.

“There is a spare room that you can use as a workshop. Here’s the coordinates and mind your step around the railingless areas. Ground can be a bit treacherous with all this snow and ice.”

“See you all later.” Lalna waves to all of them before taking his leave, the room filling up with an icy draft before the door softly closes behind him.

“Rythian?” Rythian is about to decline, but Teep nudges his elbow.

“He’s coming with me. We’re going to need an area with high ground, full of bandits,” Teep signs, leaving no room with him to decline or wriggle out of it before he’s being dragged towards the door by the arm in a vice grip.

“Okay,” Ravs absently says, turning to say something before the two reach the door. “And Teep, before you go?”

“What?”

“Be gentle with Rythian, he’s a delicate flower who needs tender loving care after what he’s just been through.” He make sure that he sounds as serious as possible when saying that.

“Whatever.” Teep just waves a hand dismissively after signing that one word, opening the door.

“Ravs, I am not a _delicate flower_ who needs tender loving care, so what are you on about-” Teep drags Rythian outside by the scarf, mid-splutter. “Teep, you traitorous-” The door closes on them.

The only person left in the room is Nanosounds. Ravs turns to her. There’s a lot he could say right now, about her tendency to charge in ahead but he won’t. He’s sure that she’s realized it already without his unwanted input.

“And how can I help you? I noticed you’ve been awfully quiet, up until this point.” He taps his chin, raising an eyebrow at her. “Unless your goal was to get me alone, which I don’t think Teep would appreciate, so I’m going to have to let you down veerryy gently...”

She stares, her cheeks beginning to flame. “No! I mean, yes, I wanted to see you alone, no, wait, that’s not what I meant!” He laughs, but not unkindly, at her reaction in the way of frantically waving her hands at him like she might be able to scramble her words and forget that they’d come out of her mouth.

“You said you needed my help. I’m all yours.” Ravs holds both of his hands out to either side of him.

Even though her face is still red, Nanosounds manages to say in an unwavering voice, “I want to learn how to punch.”

“I’d have thought a girl like you would know how to throw a punch, considering the ones you threw earlier weren’t half bad.”

She tries not to look away, pleased with the compliment. “I want to punch like _you_ , though.”

“I can’t teach you how to punch exactly like me…”

“Oh.” A single syllable, but it conveys her disappointment so clearly.

“Wait, hear me out first. I can teach how to throw a proper punch, where to hit for maximum impact, where not to hit, how to dodge and all that,” He lists off. “The rest comes from experience over time.” He smiles at her. “Which I’m sure you’ll gain more than enough of.”

She eagerly nods.“Yes _please_.”

He does not ask if it’s because she’s deliberately avoiding the use of her Siren powers, distancing herself from them for the time being. It makes perfect sense, after she’d accidentally destroyed Lalna’s beloved Loader and injured Will Strife. 

Anybody who’s made that same mistake twice isn’t going to be doing that for a third time.

It’ll also be an excellent opportunity for him to talk to her about tactics as well and possibly nudging her towards reconciliation with her teammates. He’s going to try to get that through to her before their time at Digistruct Peak is up.

\--

Lalna’s temporary workshop overlooks the area that Will’s borrowing. In the background, he hears the steady rattle of gunfire that pause every now and again like Will is calibrating it. He has to stop himself from diving for cover (or cowering in the corner) whenever the sounds draw too close to the window, his reflexes too attuned.

He grits his teeth, getting to work on drawing up blueprints for his arm and exactly what he wants to do with the latest modifications to achieve his goal.

A fresh blueprint page is unrolled, pinned into place on the table in front of him. He digistructs a pen with white ink, listing ideas, scribbling out the ones that won’t do, shifting through the proverbial muck to find the ones that he could eventually polish and refine.

He ends up with three very tentative ideas that he likes the sound of.

Two of them rely on modifying Larry Robert further. Only one of those serves to strike a balance between him and Larry Robert, the other focusing completely on changing Larry Robert into a war machine. That one relies on Xephos getting back to him about an A.I., so Lalna can scratch that one for now.

That leaves two ideas. He’ll have to make time to check up on Larry Robert and possibly find a better shield, guns and rocket launchers than the ones his robot is currently equipped with (forgetting entirely about his clogged inventory with goods to be examined).

 

For now, he wants to work on his arm, the last idea. Whatever derision Lalnable has against modifying his current arm is a little justified. Lalna’s always had a tendency to tinker with items without having to consult a manual, while Lalnable prefers playing it by the book (and _safe_ , no risk of explosions happening from that but how mundane is that?).

This time, he actually thinks about what he wants to do, laying out the pieces he has at his disposal to consider how they might come together. It’ll form an even better creation than the one he currently possesses, pushing boundaries and creating new ones. It’s just as much of an art form as it is to tinker, no matter what his sibling thinks or says.

Whatever machines Lalnable has up and running (thanks to Lalna’s handiwork in the first place and making his electricity bill melt into a state of near nonexistence) in his clinic are a result of that. He can’t understand why Lalnable can’t see that. It’s not that he won’t, because even Lalnable could be swayed by it, in the end, even if he pretended not to be.

Lalnable is just as driven as he is by emotion, though he feigned that logic could be superior sometimes (okay, make that most of the time). Logic isn’t _everything_. Here, Lalna is in his element, being driven by his gut and know-how, supplemented with, wait for it, logic. Not by ‘oh, this feels or looks good, it’ll do’, because those had resulted in almost fatal errors.

He’s been sloppy with his work, too caught up in the stigma to realize that it’d been affecting him, still, as a result of his argument with Lalnable. That’s sort of resolved now. As he works, he can feel it being shed as if he’s outgrown it. It’s no longer a burden on his mind. His mind is lighter than it’s ever been. He’s at his best.

Lalna is in his element and he’s content. Nobody to get on his case about responsibilities, nobody to nag, walk all over, bully or insult him, just the tools at his disposal, the machine of his interest and his own thoughts to keep him company. 

He’ll be fine. Ravs’ offer about talking still sticks out in his mind. He puts it aside. One day, he’ll take it up when he can’t take it anymore.

When he’s working, Lalnable had made an offhanded comment once that he seems like a different person altogether. He’s not wrong about that. He’s since disconnected his arm and laid it out on the table in front of him, using his dominant, left hand to break it down into its base components. 

There’s stuff he grabbed from the scrapyard where they’d initially met Zylus and stuff he’s been picking up here and there, on his travels around Pandora. About thirty minutes later, It’s all coming together in the form of a rough outline laid out, ready to be assembled.

He would have started to assemble it, if it hadn’t been for the sudden series of explosions that light up the workshop from the window.

Startled, he drops the screwdriver in his hand. It escapes under the table as Lalna whirls around, his mind snagged on the instinct to ‘get down’. Someone outside is laughing, their laughter on the edge of hysterical and thrilled, drawing Lalna in, a moth to an open fire.

Splashes of orange, yellow and red dance on the walls through the window. Lalna doesn’t have time to grab his partially assembled arm, but he draws a gun with his left hand, unable to stifle that instinctive reaction. He edges towards the lone door of the room, kicking it open and stepping through it. 

What he’s met with is a scene of complete and utter destruction, fire everywhere, charred stones in the path, chunks of rock torn from it and flung aside. In the middle of it all is one Will Strife on the ground, laughing. Clinging onto the wall besides him is one sideways Atomic Turret. 

It aims at Lalna, the barrel of its machine gun silently swiveling up to meet him. Lalna barely manages to stop himself from shooting it. Will lifts a trembling hand, calling it off.

“Will, what the fuck is going on? Why is there so much _fire_?” Lalna calls out to him. He puts away the gun, seeing no need to use it if his teammate is just fucking around.

Will unsteadily climbs to his feet, limping over to Lalna. A chuckle (less maniacal than his full-blown laughter) bubbles up and out from him. “Lalna! Sorry to disturb you, I didn’t think it’d be that explosive.”

“What’s explosive?” He asks, unable to connect the dots.

“This.” Will waves a hand and his turret vanishes, only to reappear in front of him. 

A spiderant spawns in the center of the area. Sensing an enemy, the turret locks onto it, its barrel swiveling around in under a second. A single red dot on the spiderant’s abdomen is the only warning the poor creature receives before the sides of the turret open up like a deadly, blossoming grey metal flower of death.

The next thing Lalna knows, about ten or so large missiles are being launched through the air at what feels like supersonic speed, it’d just happened in the _blink of an eye_. The explosions light up the courtyard. Once again, Lalna throws up his hand to protect his eyes (forgetting about his goggles).

Will Strife pushes up his sunglasses once the light show is gone, shooting Lalna a shaky grin that threatens to become laughter in the next second. Tentatively, Lalna puts down his hand, sees Will staring at him with such a maniacal grin on his face and starts to join Will in his laughter, tears coming out of his eyes.

“That spiderant just got _wrecked_ ,” He wheezes.

“I know, right?” Will says with far too much pride in his voice. “I can’t wait until I get to try it out on some real targets.”

Lalna’s laughter dies, earning him a mildly concerned look from Will.

\--

An hour later, most of them are gathered around a table in one of the spare rooms connected to a kitchen. The oven’s spark is almost nonexistent when Ravs had tried it. The stovetop however, heats up with an unexpected intensity to make up for the oven’s lack of life. 

Ravs evenly doles out some sort of hot, thick, aromatic reddish-brown stew with chunks meat and an assortment vegetables thrown in into bowls. Those are passed around and handed out to those currently in the room. 

He doesn’t put away the rest, knowing that some of them will likely want a second helping. Working on one’s skills always generated a giant (and in his opinion, healthy and acceptable) appetite.

The only people absent are Teep and Lalna. Teep isn’t in the room since they disliked eating in front of other people but judging by the map marker, they’re likely lounging around in the control room. The room is also more heated than anywhere else on Digistruct Peak, so it makes perfect sense that Teep would immediately gravitate towards it.

Rythian’s not sure why Lalna isn’t here. Lalna rarely passes up an opportunity to scarf down one of Ravs’ meals, usually being the first to race downstairs at every mealtime. There’s not really much to talk about while they’re all eating, any silence that’s springing up not proving as stifling as the one back in Sanctuary Hole since Ravs’ presence mitigates it a little.

“Lalna’s not here,” Ravs notes, finally noticing his absence with some concern.

“I’ll take something to him,” Nanosounds volunteers when Rythian’s about to do so, proving that she’s also concerned about the lack of one Lalna. He refrains from objecting, choosing to help himself to seconds. Deliberately avoiding talking to her, still hung up on everything leading up to Digistruct Peak.

Will glances from him to her but says nothing. Things had been less tense and more lively at Lalnable’s clinic even when it’d literally been just Parvis and Lanable arguing over dinner over something silly that Parvis had initially brought up to annoy Lalnable. 

This in comparison is a goddamned _mine field_ where even a single step could result in further damage, including collateral. Hence the lack of talking.

“You sure? I can do that while tracking down Teep,” Ravs offers. She nods anyway.

He passes her a covered plate and bowl, followed by a spork. She’s eaten only one bowl, he notes, in stark contrast to her usual two (on rare days if she’s particularly ravenous, three whole bowls or plates). He’ll save some for her, just in case she’s hungry later.

Nanosounds leaves the room, trudging along a cleared path in the snow towards the workshop. Puffs of white evaporate whenever she lets out a breath. She’d seen how Rythian half-risen from his chair, about to offer to take the food to Lalna. 

Unfortunately she’d gotten there first. She hadn’t known he’d wanted to do so. Yes, she feels a little bad for blocking him but it’s an opportunity for her to talk to Lalna. She hadn’t told Ravs everything that’d been bothering her. He hadn’t asked for more details. He’d listened between correcting her punches, only saying ‘You should probably talk to everyone’ and left it there.

“Lalna?” Nanosounds knocks, softly as to not startle him. She peers in through the window, only seeing a growing orange light, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.

A shrieking Lalna explodes out of the room, wreathed in orange on one side of his body. The door’s flings open, slamming and shoving her back from it. She drops the bowl and plate which immediately shatter on the ground, food and ceramic pieces scattering along the path, her eyes widening from the sight of Lalna who’s on _fire_.

There’s orange flames licking away at Lalna’s right arm, beginning to catch on his shirt, his shield rippling as it tries in vain to mitigate the fire spreading. If she doesn’t help him, he’s going to lose more than his shirt and mechanical arm.

The door across the open area bursts open from Lalna’s startled cries. The other Vault Hunters plus Ravs appears, distant figures almost obscured by the snow falling from above. Rythian reaches out with a hand. 

Lalna stops shrieking, yanked away by an abrupt teleport. For the second time, Rythian reaches out, feeling for him. He retrieves Lalna, carefully dropping him in the snow nearby.

He’s shivering, huddling up into a miserable ball, water dripping down from his frame. Nanosounds concludes that Rythian must have teleported him into the lake below and back to them, in the span of five seconds. He’s already kneeling by Lalna’s side, dragging his own coat off his shoulders and throwing it around him.

Rythian regrets the loss of his coat, given the less than stellar conditions but he’ll deal. Will Strife is already ECHOing Lalnable, seeking help. Everyone can barely make out a grumble at how late it is and if it’s Lalna who’s in trouble...

The look that passes between Rythian and Lalna once Lalna looks up lasts for a second longer than it should have.

Rythian breaks it first, mumbling awkwardly, “I should get my second coat out and finish eating.” He rises and departs for where Teep is hiding out, not wanting to stick around for any theatrics. Lalna watches him stiffly walk away, regretting that he couldn’t have thanked Rythian for his coat when he’d had the chance.

Hands pull Lalna upright. Ravs shakes his head at his condition. “Let’s get you out of those clothes and into something more comfortable, shall we?” For once, he doesn’t sound flirtatious, rather, adopting a practical tone.

Despite the cold, Lalna can feel his face trying to warm from that remark, his teeth starting to chatter uncontrollably but Rythian’s coat is still warm from his lingering body heat. He despises how the cold is stealing that from him, pulling the coat closer around his body.

Will would have loved to help Lalna walk back into the building but at that moment, he tries to find Nanosounds, who’s been conspicuously absent when she’d normally be more involved. She’s staring after Lalna and Ravs, an unreadable expression on her face.

He does not know that at that very moment, she’s in her HUD, staring at her inbox. There’s a message from her Mother, labeled ‘IMPORTANT’ and with the subject: Dinner Invitation on Hecate, please RSVP by...’. The date she has to respond is within a week.

\--

Once a dry, fed and calmed down Lalna’s been reluctantly put to bed and is softly snoring away, Ravs gently closes the door and goes to find Rythian. He doesn’t blame Lalna for wanting to take a break from the world after being set on fire by his own invention.

Will and Nanosounds have retired to their own temporary rooms. Will is deliberately forgoing sleep in favor of obsessively tuning his turret, not wanting to revisit the horrible world of sleep just yet, a blanket (smuggled out to him via Parvis) tucked around his shoulders for warmth.

Unbeknownst to everyone else, Nanosounds is sleepwalking. She’s restlessly pacing from one end of her room to the other, twitching, lashing out at and recoiling against invisible foes. She will not return to the bed until her body’s had enough and demands rest. When she wakes, she’ll wonder why she’s so sore and recall that she’d probably sleepwalked. 

She is glad that she’d locked the door and hidden the key well beforehand.

Meanwhile, Ravs knows that Rythian had come back to finish his meal, vanishing shortly after. Digistruct Peak isn’t that large of a place, which doesn't make it easy for anyone to avoid one another. That and he knows the place like the back of his hand, not needing to consult the map to navigate to where he wants to go.

They’re all also in the same party so everyone’s markers are always visible on the map in the HUD. Which is how Ravs comes across a very bizarre scene when he rounds the corner, one of his spare leather jackets in one hand to give to Rythian. 

Teep is standing in front of the few archways found scattered across Digistruct Peak. Both their hands are resting on top of their favourite sniper rifle that’s balanced upright in front of them. The sniper rifle’s barrel pointing up at the sky. Teep’s frame is still, a tall shadow in the light of the moon backing them, back held straight, staring into the distance with an aloof air.

Sitting on the steps about a metre away is one Rythian, who is drawing in his sketchbook. 

Ravs spends a few quiet minutes taking in such a scene. Teep and Rythian indulged one another on occasion but he’s never seen Teep willingly pose for Rythian before, restlessness always eventually kicking in and subsequently ruining whatever drawing that’s being done. 

That’s ironic since Ravs and Rythian know perfectly well that they could sit still for hours to wait for the perfect moment to strike but can’t be assed to sit and make an effort to not move, for a fifteen minute drawing.

Which is why Rythian’s never exactly completed a detailed sketch of Teep before, let alone a single profile that doesn’t end in him griping at them for moving at such a crucial moment. Sometimes, Ravs suspects that Teep intentionally does so just to annoy him. 

If they’d asked Teep, Teep would have shrugged and signed that they didn’t like having any reminder of their existence being left behind, enough of it existing online as it is.

In any case, he’s right about the growing restlessness.

> You done yet, Rythian? I’m this close to walking off and leaving you unsatisfied.

The message pops up in the local channel. Ravs can’t help but let out a chuckle that he hastily smothers under one hand, not wanting Rythian to know that he’s there, watching him watching Teep who’s watching the both of them.

Rythian’s head comes up to stare at Teep, the pencil in his hand stilling. Did they just make a dirty joke?

> You have ten seconds.

The pencil hastily scratches away with renewed purpose and speed.

“Okay, I’m done, you can stop posing now!” Rythian announces, dropping the pencil into his lap once the ten seconds are almost up. He flexes his hand, feeling an incoming cramp from having to rush in those final ten seconds. Teep despawns their sniper rifle and stretches, before slowly clapping.

> Good job, Rythian.

Rythian deadeyes Teep, not sure if they’re being sarcastic or not (hard to tell sometimes). Focused entirely on Teep, he misses Ravs sneaking up behind him to peer over his shoulder.

“Wow, that looks great!” He says, startling Rythian. Rythian mentally files away that compliment (trying not to look too pleased that he thinks that his drawing’s great).

“Ravs! Don’t do that, I might accidentally teleport us both somewhere silly.” A successful cover up, he thinks.

“You mean, somewhere _private_ , which I wouldn’t mind.” Rythian pointedly ignores the flirting and retrieves the pencil that almost made a break for freedom, stowing it safely in his inventory.

“I think you’ve been a bad influence on Teep, they’re now making dirty jokes.”

“I’ve always made dirty jokes. It’s just that Ravs always makes them, so I don’t usually bother,” Teep corrects. They join Ravs in peering at the sketch Rythian’s made of them.

Rythian waits with bated breath for their opinion. “Well, what do you think? Pretty good, eh?” He says with evident pride. It’s been a long time since he’s ever made anything this detailed.

It’d just been a stroke of luck that he and Teep had been passing by that particular archway and well, with how restless he’d been from worrying about Lalna and everything, it’d been a fantastic way to get rid of all that for a good fifteen minutes.

Inspiration strikes at the strangest of times, but he’s actually pleased with the result this time. This sketch is one he’s definitely keeping.

“...Not bad, I guess.”

“Not _bad_?” Rythian throws his hands up into the air, causing the two of them to step back from him. “I put all my energy into making you look like an actual badass, to get every detail down on paper and you say that it’s ‘ _not bad, I guess_ ,” He grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff to brood. Not sulk. There’s a fine difference between the two.

“It’s not like I wanted to pose, but you were practically begging me to, so,” Teep starts.

“I didn’t beg!” He protests. “I asked you very nicely and you surprisingly agreed.”

“Only because I felt sorry for you-”

“See, asking Teep very nicely works. Ordering Teep to do something’s never worked,” Ravs points out triumphantly.

“How is _that_ related to _this_?” is Rythian’s exasperated response.

“See, I have an idea for something, but I need to talk to Teep and ask them very nicely about it first.” Ravs stops to hand Rythian the leather jacket he’d been carrying. “Here, you can borrow this before you freeze to death out here.”

“Thanks.” Rythian pulls the leather jacket on. It’s ridiculous on him, especially in the shoulders and chest but it’s better than nothing. He’d forgotten his second coat. It’s hanging on a line somewhere at the Crooked Caber, still drying out, whoops. He tucks his scarf into it, gingerly rearranging it. He’ll have to go and get his coat.

“You might as well stick around so I don’t have to track you down later,” Ravs begins, lapsing into a weighted tone to it that has Teep and Rythian paying attention to him in the next second, “I saw how you and others work together.” 

Rythian opens his mouth to argue, only to realize that he’s _right_. He decides to shut up and listen, to see what Ravs is proposing.

“Frankly, it’s not going to cut it if things get even dicier out in the real world, so here’s what I think we should do instead…”

\--

“Capture the Flag?” Will’s played it a few times in his life for fun, back in university. He knows how it goes. Judging by Nanosounds and Lalna’s identical dumbfounded expressions, they have no idea what to expect. Rythian (shifting in his coat that Lalna had silently returned, earlier in the day) looks like he’d been expecting it, if the neutral air around him is anything to go by.

“I know you’re sick of running of the course...” Sick of dying gory deaths at the hands of every single enemy that could possibly exist on Pandora, Will thinks but doesn’t have the nerve to say it out loud and interrupt Ravs’ explanation. “So that’s what we’re doing today, for a change of pace!”

“Wait, there’s…” Nanosounds does a quick count of heads from where she’s standing and frowns, “You, me, Lalna, Rythian, Strife and Teep, so it’s uneven teams.” Assuming that all the Vault Hunters are on one team, that is.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Rythian?” Rythian walks over to Ravs and Teep. Lalna, Will and Nanosounds stare, not quite understanding why he’s just gone over to them- _oh_. “See, now we’re even on both sides!”

“So that’s how it is,” Lalna says, an edge in his voice creeping into his voice as he glares at Rythian. Rythian refuses to look at any one of them in the eye, arms folded over his chest and head held high, looking past them.

“Hold on a minute, that’s not exactly fair, you three combined have loads more combat experience than the three of us,” Will hastily points out. “So I think either Ravs or Teep should join us.”

“Ah, but that’d defeat the point of the exercise then,” Ravs brightly says. “You do have an excellent point though, so to balance it out a bit, you three are attacking while my team is defending. We can’t come after you directly. Sound good?”

“You’re also forgetting something else,” Will pipes up again (resisting the urge to jump up and down on the spot, waving his hand at the same time like an overeager know-it-all). “What’s the flag?”

Teep steps behind Rythian and proceeds to defly unwind Rythian’s purple scarf from around his neck. “This,” They sign, nimbly avoiding Rythian’s attempts to grab it back.

“You can’t use my scarf as a flag! _Teep_!”

“Well, the only other thing that’ll do is my kilt and I don’t have a spare on me right now.” Ravs pats the fabric of said kilt, grinning at Rythian. “Do you really want to use that instead?”

“No,” Rythian grumbles, seeing that he’s going to have cave and let them use his scarf. He feels sort of naked without his scarf but it’s better than well, depriving Ravs of his godforsaken kilt. It’s already happened twice and that’s a few times too many, in his opinion. Even if Ravs wouldn’t have minded.

The others (minus Teep since there’s no easy way to tell) clearly do mind, sporting identical expressions of pure mortification. Nanosounds is sporting an interested expression that she hastily gets rid of before the others can see.

“Great! The game ends if all the members of a team dies. You instantly ‘die’ if you run out of shield charge. We’re using live ammunition, so you have to immediately stop shooting once you see someone’s shield run out.” 

“It’s pretty obvious when that happens.” Teep notes, punching Ravs hard in the arm. His shield ripples before settling back into place. Ravs swats at them, causing them to step away.

“What if we get hurt?” This comes from Will.

“Lalnable’s on standby at my request.”

“Oh. That’ll be fun if anyone of us get hurt, considering he initially warned us about getting too excited,” Will dryly says.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take full responsibility. Anyway, if you ‘die’, you have to withdraw, no interfering with the rest of the game. You interfere, your team forfeits. I think that covers all the rules!”

“Why are we using live ammunition?” Lalna squeaks, realizing that there’d been nothing said about alternative ammunition to be used. They’ve been using live ammunition the entire time but they hadn’t been going to shoot at each other on purpose (until now).

“Realism, Lalna!” calls out Ravs over his shoulder as he’s trekking up the path to where he, Rythian and Teep will be located, the other two following. “The game starts when your gate comes down. Good luck!”

Once the three are gone, Nanosounds glances at her fellow teammates, Will Strife and Lalna. They glance back at her. She holds out her hand, swallowing, nervous about how the game is going to go. 

“I want to win. Truce?” She declares but in a quiet tone lacking her usual energy.

“Truce,” Lalna reluctantly says, shaking her hand. Will plants his hand atop of theirs. They’re all of the same mind, united by a common goal, past transgressions shelved for the time being.

“Truce,” Will evenly agrees. Nanosounds smiles and puts her hand on top of his. Lalna adds his hand, followed by Will. Soon, they’re attempt to outdo one another in forming a tower of hands, each of them dissolving into high-pitched giggles. “Enough mucking around!” Will says, attempting to mimic Rythian.

That has the effect of inducing more giggles from the two but upon the reminder that Rythian’s not on their team, they sober up, pulling out guns and checking that their shields are at full charge. 

They’re all more fully aware of the roles they play, having grown more used to them during the gauntlets they’ve been running together. However, without Rythian giving the orders and coordinating them, it’s down to making up for his absence as much as they can.

“Communicate _everything_. We’re on a separate channel so they won’t overhear us unless you want them to. If you think you’re in trouble, holler for help,” Will mutters in a loud enough voice to the two of them. “We can’t afford to lose any of us to anything they throw our way.”

“You too,” Lalna replies, flexing the fingers of his newly upgraded mechanical arm. He’s hoping to test it out the first chance he gets. An ace up his sleeve for when the times get tough. The others haven’t noticed the changes to his arm yet.

“I’m staying in the back because of my leg, but I can drop my turret anytime.”

“I’m in the front,” Nanosounds says. She barely manages to refrain from sullenly adding ‘as usual’. 

“I’ll cover you two with Larry Robert if I have to,” Lalna adds after a slight pause. He lets out a sudden, nervous giggle because the only position left is in the middle and he’s not going to say that out loud just in case it sets off another round of giggling or earns a dirty remark from the other two.

There’s no time to become distracted since the gate descends at that moment. In single file, the three of them enter. Five skags appear on the bridge, the last one a monstrous, hulking specimen with blue sparks flying off its electrified hide.

“That’s not _fair_ , why do they get to use the course against us?” Nanosounds shouts, already firing her gun. 

“All’s fair in love and war!” Ravs says in their ears, laughing like he’s enjoying their reactions.

“Did he use that saying right?” Lalna asks.

“Yeah, he did,” Will says after a deliberate pause, focusing on the skags approaching them. “Take out the smaller ones! I’m dropping my turret as a distraction so stay out of its way,” He warns, lobbing his turret as far as possible towards the back.

His turret spawns when it hits the ground, shooting the second it does so, drawing away the giant skag which starts to attack it. He hopes that the new shield on his turret will stand up, the field shimmering with every blow it receives.

Lalna doesn’t see the need to spawn Larry Robert just yet, drawing the Bane with its usual scream and opening fire on the remaining skags who have decided to stick to their original targets. 

He doesn’t need to move that fast for the moment, letting the Bane’s damage make up for his lack of maneuverability. The initial drawing of the Bane once incurred odd looks and twitches of mouths, it’s now pretty much routine, no longer incurring any weird reactions from the others now. 

One skag goes down. His electricity-ridden bullets pepper the ground after another skag that’s broken out into a sprint when its fellow skag had fallen.

Once it’s close, it lunges for his neck, jaws splitting apart for the anticipated mauling. Lalna instantly brings up the blade of his SMG to stab it straight into its maw, slicing through the skag’s body. There’s a wet, slick and disgusting noise. The skag splits into two halves, spilling its insides almost all over him and onto the ground.

He doesn’t stop to let himself think about what’s happened. Having the illusion of having his head bitten off by an even bigger skag seems to pale in comparison to that. Also, dying multiple gory deaths in varying ways during the various runs have pretty much desensitized him.

He should have seen it as worrying (and if he dares to be optimistic, it’s a good thing). He knows that he’s fighting computerized opponents, finding that he’s faring much better. Now if only the real world was like this.

There’s always the niggling fear that he’ll kill one of the others lurking at the back of his mind. His gun handling skills and reflexes have improved in leaps and bounds so there’s no way he’ll accidentally injure anyway but he still really doesn’t want to shoot at Rythian, Ravs or Teep. Unless he has to, of course but he won’t be super enthusiastic about it.

Lalna lifts his gun to continue firing. The skag vanishes, properly ‘dead’. 

The giant skag’s ripped apart Will’s turret but the turret’s done a number on it before it’d gone down. He tosses a grenade over (not a tesla grenade, he’d gotten rid of that as soon as he could at a vending machine). It hadn’t been able to dodge in time, the explosion taking off one of its hind limbs.

Still, it drags itself over on three, bullet-ridden limbs on the verge of giving out. The combined gunfire from the three of them bring it down. They step over its dissolving carcass, Will despawning the remains of his turret as he passes.

It’s a constant fight uphill, foes spawning left, centre and right in every new area. They’re forced to focus more than ever, always having to stifle the reaction of waiting for Rythian’s usual teleporting or the crack of his sniper rifle at work. It’s like that time at Lynchwood but they’ve come so far since then.

His absence just as pronounced but the pain of it isn’t as raw as it had been then. They’re also more independent, their focus split between the battlefield, their foes, themselves and their teammates, a delicate balancing act.

They take exactly three breaks, more to let Will rest and and catch his breath. He’s faring fine but recovery is recovery, not something to be rushed. The other two are aware that he’s doing his best. All the same, they don’t want to push him any further than he’s pushing himself. Still, he’s doing better than on the first day.

They share the skag jerky (given to them by Rythian, where the heck does he keep getting those) along with water amongst themselves, discussing tactics, talking through scenarios and devising plans.

Eventually, Will nods, indicating that he’s ready to move on. Together, the three of them blaze through another two zones. They find themselves in an area that reminds them of a town. There’s not a lot of open space to run around in. Plenty of cover, though.

The lack of waiting foes are setting off red flags in Will’s mind, a potential trap waiting to be triggered. He relays this to the other two. “Hold on, don’t move in just yet, something’s fishy.” 

Nanosounds shoots a look bordering on furtive at him but she remains with them.

“Good job, you’ve learned, especially you, Nanosounds.” Ravs claps a few times, clearly pleased. He jumps from a roof to land on both feet, standing a few metres away in front of them. He despawns the BAR-TNK hiding just out of sight behind a building that’d been ready to obliterate them with missiles if they’d taken a single step forward.

“Oh no, we have to _fight_ you?” She groans. “I’d rather take on ten BAR-TNKS at once.”

“And let you win? Nah, you have to make it past me to get to Teep and Rythian,” He says and in the span of two heartbeats, he’s closed the distance between them, a punch headed straight for her face. 

Before she can intercept and start clashing with him, Lalna moves.

Lalna’s metal fist collides with Ravs’ own, metal clanging as if a gong’s just been rung. Ravs is surprised that the metal of Lalna's arm hadn’t shattered with the force of his punch; there’s not even a dent or a scratch. He swings again, aiming for Lalna’s gut.

Having anticipated that, Lalna catches that punch with his right hand, straining against Ravs’ strength that almost bowls him over. He’s sliding back, millimetre by millimetre, digging his heels in as much as he can, unwilling to yield. His teeth are being clenched together so hard to the point of giving himself a headache.

“New arm?” Ravs casually asks, not in the slightest bit fazed or as breathless as Lalna is.

“Yep,” Lalna grunts, letting him have this one and slackening his grip on Ravs’ hand when Ravs pushes forward. He steps to the side, surprising him. That catches him off-guard, just for a second. 

A second is all that Lalna needs, curling his hand into a fist once more. He decides that there’s no time like the present to test it out, activating his arm’s new ability. A panel at his elbow folds up, revealing a thruster that spurts out a flame, propelling his arm forwards with a burst of speed. 

Ravs can’t possibly dodge or intercept at this range. Instead, he takes the blow head-on by bringing his arm up, sacrificing some of his shield’s charge in the process. Lalna’s punch glances off, jolting him. Having successfully mitigated that, Ravs smacks his arm aside like it’s nothing more than a fly.

Now Lalna’s the one who’s caught off-guard, shutting down the thruster in his arm to try to deliver a chop, flattening his hand out in preparation. Ravs’ hand closes around his mechanized wrist, pulling it closer to him. _Oh no_. Memories at what happens to every single enemy Ravs had gotten his hands on flash before his eyes.

Every hair on the back of Lalna’s neck starts to stand on end because how could he think that it’d be that _easy_ to defeat him. He’s about to meet the same fate as those enemies. 

The final boss, OMGWTH?, a frankenstein of a Loader and a Constructor, had died in the same way. Once Teep had brought down its shield, Ravs ducked past the shots kicking up clouds of dust as they’d barely missed him, shaking the feed on the monitors from the impacts. Ravs had leapt up and grabbed on. 

He’d started ripping out the machine’s insides with just his bare hands, hands punching through the metal like it’d been nothing more than rice paper.

Out of ammo and with the machine distracted trying to buck him off, Teep had closed in as well, jabbing the bayonet on the end of their sniper rifle up and into the underside of the machine’s lone eye.

They’d wrenched their rifle back, dragging with it the eye, just as Ravs reached its core and pried it out, dropping it to the ground and leaping back to join Teep. The two had turned their backs on the explosion, silhouettes lit up as their shields flickered but remained unbroken.

“I’ll try not to wreck it too badly,” Ravs says, softly, appearing to admire his arm before moving to crush it. Lalna braces himself for the incoming pain, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Hey! You forgot about us!” Two shouts from above grab their attention. Lalna’s eyes fly open. He glances upwards, his heart filling with a flood of relief that washes away his fear, knowing that he’d brought them precious time according to their plan.

“Incoming!” Will shouts, flinging down a metal square that’s already unfolding into its full form before he ducks out of sight. The Atomic turret crashes into the ground besides Lalna and Ravs, already having locked onto the latter in mid-air.

Ravs immediately swings Lalna forwards in front of him as a human shield. It causes the turret to hesitate at shooting what Will’s deemed ‘friendly’ (and Lalna is so glad that it hadn’t opened fire yet, sparing his shield and he’d rather not die due to ‘friendly fire’).

Will Strife curses and gestures as much to Nanosounds. “Plan B!”

“I’m on it!”

Nanosounds leaps over the gap between the buildings above them, opening fire on Ravs. Ravs shoves Lalna forwards (a nice gesture, considering he didn’t need to) and rolls out of the way of her shots. Her shots barely miss Lalna who sprints for cover, drawing a gun (not the Bane since that’d be counterproductive) as he does so. 

A shot from afar nicks off a few strands of his hair. It embeds into the wall next to his head, cracks spider-webbing from the impact as a result. Alarmed, he falls forward, letting himself roll and coming out of it into a doorway to hide there. If he’d still been standing, he’d have died.

No longer seeing a friendly target, the turret starts shooting at its intended target. Ravs ducks around a corner and out of its line of sight. 

Will despawns it and follows, leaping across the rooftops to keep track of Ravs, never stopping in one place for long despite how much his wounded thigh is aching and he wants nothing more than to stop and rest, just for a bit. He bears the pain in silence. 

He spies someone in the distance and lunges for cover, cursing as a bullet ricochets off the roof and flies off to hit scenery. He climbs off the roof via a nearby ladder, slipping down to join Lalna.

“Tell her to get off the roof, there’s a sniper!”

Nanosounds lands on the roof of the other building, glancing around for Will.

“Nano, sniper!” Lalna shouts from below her, more than loud enough for her to hear.

Just in time, she spawns tentacles around her, ducking down as one of them is torn apart by another shot, causing purple blood to gush out. She vaults over the rooftop’s edge, seeking cover and to meet up with the other two. The tentacles despawn, leaving a mess on the roof but that’s not her problem.

“I think I know where they’re are shooting from,” Will pants once she finds him and Lalna. While catching his breath, he points at the very topmost building of Digistruct Peak. There’s one green figure crouched on the balcony there, reloading their sniper rifle before aiming it once more in their direction.

Above them, Rythian’s scarf flutters and dances in the wind from where it’s tightly tied to a pole.

“And there’s the flag,” Nanosounds says, watching it wave at them.

“Also, I got a great idea for how to get rid of Ravs,” Will pauses, sounding unsure, “If you’re willing to hear it, that is.”

“Did you just make a pun?” deadpans Lalna. He spawns Larry Robert so that Larry Robert can keep an eye out for Ravs, careful to position his robot so that it can’t be sniped.

“So I did,” Will says but shakes his head, refusing to get distracted, pressing on, “But listen, Ravs said we had to get _past_ him. He didn’t necessarily say we have to take him out,” Will explains. “So how about we do this instead?”

The three of them huddle closer to hear Will’s plan of action, ears pricked for any sound of Ravs’ sudden approach. 

\--

Rythian climbs up onto the rooftop where Teep is positioned. There’s a lovely view overlooking the majority of Digistruct Peak, perfect for sniping. The other three Vault Hunters had appeared to become aware of the two’s tactics in covering Ravs from afar and made sure to stay out of sight after the initial attempts.

That being said, there’d been a few close calls. One shot had come so close to Lalna that if his head had been several centimetres to the right, he’d have been taken out instantly.

Teep turns, craning their head to peer at Rythian. His movements are coming off as suspicious. He wouldn’t ordinarily step behind them, knowing that they disliked that (it proving really, really fucking distracting, for one thing and also sets off their impulse to automatically take out anything that did so). 

Rythian smiles an apologetic smile. “Calm down, I’m here to work on my sniping,” He casually says. Without his scarf, his face seems more honest and less drawn. It might just be the light of the day that’s just making him seem more easily read, without a constant shadow being cast over the lower half of his face.

> By sniping your former teammates even more?

There’s a dryness in that message that Rythian can detect even through text. Teep had sent a message instead of signing, unwilling to risk taking their hands off their sniper rifle. Rythian's an open book indeed, without his scarf. Without taking their eyes off Rythian, they heft it up as they stand, throwing over their shoulder, despawning it.

“Liar.”

Rythian eyes the knife that they’ve just drawn and the relaxed but ready stance that they’ve settled into. “Can’t blame me for trying,” He sighs, lamenting that Teep had caught onto him so fast, raising his hand to teleport Teep somewhere else.

Teep dives forward, out of the way and foiling his initial attempt. He curses, teleporting himself behind Teep instead to try again, their knife swing missing him completely. They’ve already anticipated his teleport, elbowing him in the gut the second he appears.

“Fuck!” He chokes out in pain, pretending to double over from the impact that’s just drained his shield by a quarter or so.

> Looks like we’ll have to work on your melee skills next time.

Rythian grins, looks up and proceeds to knock the knife out of their hand, teleporting it away once it drops. He lifts his hand up higher to do the same to them. 

Teep grabs onto his arm, causing him to panic, that’s not part of his plan. He teleports the both of them. He drops them both onto the roof, the only place in mind he could think of that’s still in range of his scarf. 

Upon appearing, he slams his leg into Teep’s, unbalancing them but they still manage to hang onto him. The two start to grapple, trying to throw each other off the roof.

Rythian succeeds in throwing Teep aside, lunging for his scarf that’s just a scant metre away but a hand warps around his ankle and yanks back. It causes him to fall flat on his face, winding him, cold splaying its fingers out over his bare face and neck, including down his shoulders from the snow trickling past his clothes.

He flips himself onto his back, defensively putting his arms up as Teep spawns a bladed pistol and tries to stab him. He rolls out of the way across the roof, towards the edge. He almost slides off it from both his momentum and the snow causing him to overshoot by half a metre. It’s only half a metre but _shit_.

His head’s dangling out over the edge, the rest of him to soon follow. He realizes far too late that this had been Teep’s goal from the start of the confrontation, to force him into a compromising position.

Rythian hastens to sit up and get away. Before he can teleport himself to safety, a boot solidly lands on his chest, pinning him there. It moves up to his throat, applying just the tiniest of pressures as a warning not to try anything. That also has the added effect of stopping him from completely sliding off the roof.

He doesn’t dare crane his head back. There’s no need to inject more fear into himself from seeing the drop that awaits him if he falls. Or if Teep decides to shove him off. Teep appears to be toying with the notion, their pistol still in hand. The blade glints as its edge catches the sunlight.

“Don’t,” Rythian whispers. It’s hard to speak when there’s a boot pressed right up against his windpipe. Teep could also crush his throat. They won’t do that, though. Or so Rythian thinks, assuming that they’re more merciful than that by way of having been friends for years.

> You did try to backstab me. 

A simple observation, though there’s disappointment laced within it when Rythian reads it. He’d expected as much when trying to attempt his plan but still. It sounds like Teep’s taking it harder than he’d thought. Teep’s boot shifts as if to let go of him (to let him slide), a spike of fear rising in Rythian’s gut from the slight motion. 

Teeps stops, tilting their head up. They lift a hand up to the side of their head to answer their ECHO.

“You there? I need backup,” Ravs says the instant Teep answers the call.

> Can it wait? I got a traitor up here with me.  
> Give you three guesses as to who it is.

They’re definitely rubbing it in now by including Rythian in the call and messages.

“What, Rythian?” Ravs laughs, but it sounds forced, like it’s taking a colossal amount of effort for him to remain this upbeat. “Really, you’re not joking?” He says when he’s met with nothing but a profound silence from Teep. “Oh, _Rythian_. Anyway, Teep, I’m pinned down right now and could use some help.”

A tiny bead of guilt for betraying his two best friends lodges in Rythian’s gut at the disappointment in Ravs’ voice. He had hoped to end the game before Ravs had found out as well, to avoid this exact situation.

> Seriously? I expected better of you.

“Yes, seriously! Strife and Lalna dropped their turret and robot, and I’ve never seen so many bloody tentacles in my entire life…” Ravs curses. “Got driven into a corner, so I’m pinned down right now.”

Teep spares a glance at the marker that denotes Ravs’ location, spotting Ravs being indeed, pinned down by gunfire from a Loader and a turret. Plus about ten tentacles blocking off his escape above and around him, caging him in.

> I’ve seen enough hentai to know where this is going.

There’s a beat where Rythian almost clocks himself in the back of the head on the roof from suppressing a laugh. Ravs heaves an impatient sigh. “I knew you were about say that. Look, just get rid of them, will you?”

Rythian watches as Teep trades their pistol for a sniper rifle. They let off a series of precise shots that Rythian can feel from the bone-deep vibrations that run through him, jolting him with every one. It also reminds him that they could easily turn the gun on him instead.

Somewhere out there, Will and Lalna will both instantly know that their beloved machines have been destroyed, eliciting a bit of sympathy from him.

Fuck the tentacles, though. No sympathy there for them. If Siren powers had a basis, he wonders what the fuck is Nanosounds’ basis. Rythian decides he’s better off not knowing, shoving that into the very depths of his mind, never to be touched again.

Even now, he doesn’t dare retaliate or attempt to escape. He can’t reach for a gun, Teep being sure to react before he can do so. He’s not sure that he can react fast enough to teleport himself to safety, including in mid-air. Any momentum he has will be carried over, so any landing is bound to be painful or will instantly annihilate his shield, taking him out of the game.

If he simply teleports onto the roof again, Teep is sure to intercept him and knock him off for good. Or snipe him the second he lands on a different roof. He sees that it’s pointless to try anything while he’s pinned down like this.

It’s game over for him.

> So, Ravs, where are the three now?

Teep lowers the sniper rifle with their message. The rifle is exchanged for the pistol, which they train on Rythian this time. He stares down the barrel, frantically hoping that they won’t pull the trigger given the ridiculous amount of damage that it’ll do at this range and the shield that Teep has equipped.

“I don’t know,” Ravs says, sounding less stressed now that the threats have been dealt with. Some of his upbeat energy has seeped back into his voice.

> You lost them?

There’s an irritated note to Teep’s message. They lift their head as if sensing something unseen.

Rythian can’t see what’s going on behind Teep. The roof’s angle is at a tilt so that all he can see is the blue sky and clouds above him. If he tilts his head far back enough, he can see the course in addition to that, save upside-down and at a nauseating angle.

“How do you expect me to defend against all that _and_ keep track of them?”

> Just get up here.

Teep cuts the ECHO call short, sensing multiple presences behind them. They turn, seeing Nanosounds and Lanla leap at them from both sides.

“Get away from Rythian!” Lalna bellows, raising his mechanical arm to punch as Nanosounds does the same. 

Teep just ducks and steps off Rythian, successfully dodging the tackle. Now freed, Rythian makes an attempt to grab the roof and swing himself up. He’s unable to as Lalna and Nanosounds careen into him, his hand missing the edge as the three of them slide off the roof.

A familiar weightlessness settles in the pit of their stomachs before gravity deprives them of it by kicking in a second later. They split apart as they start to fall.

“Why didn’t you shoot Teep?” Rythian yells over the sound of the rushing wind filling his ears and rustling his clothes and hair. He’s not going to panic, he’s not going to panic, he’s not going to panic-okay, he’s panicking, unable to think of a way out of this.

“Because we didn’t want to give ourselves away!” Nanosounds shouts back at him, that much should be _obvious_.

She latches onto his arm with her tattooed one. Something inside of him is immediately repulsed before he realizes and banishes it. He’s actually glad that she’s grabbing onto him, he’s in need of her support just as much as she’s in need of his. Her eyes are brimming with tears from how fast they’re falling.

He’s got his back turned on the ground, not wanting to meet it face first while she’s adopted a skydiving pose. Her other hand gropes blindly in the air besides her for Lalna. She finds the sleeve of his shirt, dragging him closer so that the three of them are linked by the crooks of their elbows. 

Lalna’s mimicking her, throwing all his limbs out to try to slow their fall. There is fear in his face, in his eyes and posture, but still, he hangs onto the two of them as if letting go of them would mean losing them forever.

“Don’t let go,” Lalna pleads, his voice a terrified whimper.

It’s nice, how they’re making an effort but Rythian knows that it’s useless. It’s touching, nonetheless (and is that deja vu he feels, a familiar feeling of belonging starting to fill the week-long ache inside of him at last).

Also, ever since the game began, his skin had started crawling the second he’d started wearing a shield. He’d found himself reaching for the borrowed shield (one of Teep’s spares) more than once, simply too used to not wearing it. He’s sure that he’s not supposed to react like this when locked into a protective second skin, no matter how beneficial it is.

He puts up with it anyway for the sake of the others but the moment the game finishes, he’s ripping that shield off because he’s not sure if he can take it any more, that sensation (an itch that wanted to be scratched until his nails cracked and bed, his fingers hitting bone).

“We won’t! Rythian, teleport us-” Nanosounds says, her voice starting to peel at the edges with fear.

“I can’t, there’s no time!” He responds, squeezing his eyes shut and expecting the ground to meet him any second now, dreading the incoming pain despite the shield being in place. A warm, solid pair of arms encompasses the three of them, preventing them from meeting their fate.

Ravs grunts, wincing from having caught them and hefts them up. His hair’s disheveled and he’s looking like he’d just run flat out for a mile to get to them in time but there’s a brilliant spark in his eyes as if he’s thoroughly enjoying the challenge.

“Hi,” He says, a little breathlessly, grinning like it’s no big deal (yes, it is).

“...Hi,” Rythian says, covering his face with a hand. Of fucking course Ravs would have seen their predicament, putting their welfare first instead of the game. 

A mixture of emotions whirl around inside Rythian: gratitude, irritation, shame, relief and something else that’s perfectly summed up as ‘not wanting to meet Ravs in person now, not until the game had finished’.

“So, what’s it like being on the bottom for once?” Ravs jokes, the joke directed purely at Rythian. He’s mostly being squashed by the other two who are piled in his lap, he realizes. Nanosounds and Lalna stare, then start to snicker.

“Ravs?”

“Yes?” 

“Shut up and put us down already,” Rythian retorts as his face starts to warm because that is extremely _inappropriate_ , considering the circumstances (but the other three don’t think so, judging by their snickering).

“As you command,” Ravs gravely says. He drops all three of them into a snowbank, dusting his hands off after. 

The three shriek from the cold now leaking into their clothes and touching their bare skin. He smiles, digistructing a shotgun and proceeds to shoot them in the chest, ‘killing’ them in one shot.

“You did not just do _that_ ,” Lalna moans, unable to believe that he’s just ‘died’, after all the effort he’d put in. “That’s unfair!”

Rythian says nothing, glaring at Ravs who shrugs, smiling apologetically. “It just means that me and Teep win.”

“Game’s still on,” Nanosounds points out while she’s emptying her jacket hood of snow, cringing as some of it trickles down her back. “You haven’t taken out _everyone_.”

“Can’t be, I’ve just taken out…” He frowns, coming to an awful realization. Nanosounds grins at Rythian, watching as he too, realizes where Will is (while yanking his shield off and throwing it into his inventory, glad to be free of it at last, his skin no longer crawling). “Hang on, where’s Will?”

Above them, back on the rooftop, Will Strife stares down one Teep. He’d been designated the flag stealer and would have been won the game by now if Nanosounds and Lalna had actually succeeded in tackling Teep off the roof and freeing Rythian (unintentionally or not). 

The three of them had seen what had went down but there’s really no time to ponder the ‘what ifs’, like if Rythian had truly switched sides and is now on their team. Or if he’s just double-crossing him, Nanosounds and Lalna.

The situation is this: Will has to do something soon. Every second that passes is a potential advantage that Teep is gaining, letting them think of how to potentially off him. Will is also benefitting from that same advantage as well.

He’s so close to winning this game, not about to let Nanosounds and Lalna’s sacrifices be in vain. It’d be a real letdown if he’d let that happen on his watch. It’d also be kind of anticlimactic. 

“Can’t you surrender?” He proposes. Teep shakes their head. Well, that’d been worth a shot. It’s hard to read someone who always has their face covered but he’s had plenty of practice with Rythian. 

For the moment, it looks like they’re willing to let him take his time to decide what to do. 

He’s got a rifle aimed at Teep’s head while Teep has the barrel of their pistol trained on Will’s own so that kind of helps the stalemate along. All he has to do is slide the panel for his turret out of his cuff links and toss it down, duck and hope that Teep misses their shot. 

The problem is that Teep is watching him like a hawk. If his fingers so much as twitch in preparation, he’s surely dead but he is patient.

He can wait since the alternative is that the others haven’t been taken out by the fall and hope that they’ll come to back him up soon. That’s unlikely as their markers have vanished from his HUD, so he inhales, slowly, to calm himself and continuing pretending that he’s not up to anything.

It’s _hard_ since his thigh is throbbing, sending out a spike of pain every few seconds. It’s slowly climbing its way up to a ‘seven’ on the pain scale, with ‘one’ being next to no pain and ‘ten’ being ‘please kill me now and make it quick’.

Unless.

“I surrender, you win,” Will calls out to Teep. “I’m going to put my gun down and then you can shoot me.” He slowly leans down into a crouch, beginning the motions of someone about to put down his gun, only to be interrupted by an ECHO call. “I’m getting ECHOed,” Will says, giving a helpless look in their direction. He’s unable to believe his luck (or curse it, rather).

Teep shrugs and lets him take the call, seeing no harm in it.

“This is Strife Solutions, who might I be speaking to?” Will asks, opening his HUD to see a tear-stricken Benji, who lets out a relieved sound upon seeing him.

“I need your help,” Benji begins in a panicked voice that start to splinter as he continues, “Strippin’s gone missing. I’m at Lynchwood, I don’t know who else to call for help and Martyn isn’t helping, so _please_.” He cuts the call before Will can ask for any more details, leaving him blinking.

> You finished?

Will automatically nods in response to Teep’s message. They shoot him in the head. 

Rythian, Lalna and Nanosounds barge onto the roof, only to see Will slumping over onto his side, apparently dead. 

“No, Will!” scream Nanosounds and Lalna at the same time, this can’t be happening, he can’t be _dead_ , not after _everything_. 

They turn on Teep, guns already in their hands, poised to shoot until their ammo runs out. Until Rythian taps them on the shoulders, that is and shakes his head. It’s a struggle to obey him but they lower their guns, still keeping them in their hands.

Will sits up with a light groan. “That was rude, you should have waited until I dropped my turret, give a poor guy a chance, would you?” He says, wincing and gingerly touching his forehead, the spot where he’d been shot. There’s not even a scratch. Unfortunately, he is now out of the game. 

Out of the corner of Rythian’s eye, he spies Nanosounds and Lalna looking flabbergasted. The two despawn their guns, now humbled at having jumped to such a conclusion. In their rush for vengeance, they’d forgotten that it’s a game and there’s no real harm done to any of them for ‘dying’.

“Couldn’t let that happen,” Teep signs. “With that, you’re all out.” Ravs walks out from behind the Vault Hunters, striding over to high five Teep. The two fistbump before turning to them.

“That was pretty smart of you to backstab us, Rythian. I definitely didn’t see that coming.” Ravs shakes his head. “You three weren’t in it?” He gives the other three an inquiring look.

Nanosounds, Will and Lalna shake their heads, giving Rythian impressed looks. 

Rythian rubs the the back of his head, mumbling, “I figured that was for the best.” He looks at Teep. “It would have worked if Teep hadn’t caught onto me.”

“Good try, though,” Teep signs. He stares because did Teep just compliment him for backstabbing them? He’d have thought they’d been more upset about it, based on how they’d reacted at the time. Still, he’s glad they’re not mad at him. 

He’ll have to check later because there’s really no telling with them.

Rythian inclines his head. Nanosounds makes her way over to him, touching his shoulder with her right hand. He lets her, lifting his head to look her, properly, for the first time in days. A whole host of unsaid things pass between them (the first being ‘I’m sorry’). 

She pulls him into a tender hug, careful not to crush his skinny frame when she normally would have happily done so. He accepts, looking at Lalna and Will next. Rythian gives a small nod, as if to say ‘forgiven’. 

Even if Lalna isn’t included in the hug, he knows what he’s trying to get at. Will smiles because the feeling is mutual.

“Fuck it,” Lalna says and joins in the hug, trapping Rythian in between him and Nanosounds. Rythian mock-grumbles about ‘suddenly feeling touchy-feely now, are we?’ but allows it. He deadeyes Will as if to say ‘et tu, Brute?’. 

Nanosounds and Lalna proceed to shoot Will identical, pleading looks (oh god, exactly like Parvis’ puppy-eyed one) upon noticing his absence.

Will debates staying out of it but faced with such pathetic wheedling, he mutters, “ _Fine_.” He gingerly steps closer, giving Rythian a sympathetic pat on the back for good measure, there, that’s good enough, now he can step away and maintain his dignity. He moves to do so.

“You’re not getting away that easy.” Lalna yanks him in (holy shit, the grip on his new arm is _something_ ) and adds him into the hug. He’s an irreplaceable part of their motley group, suit and all, no matter what he tends to assume (that being the polar opposite).

Will tries his best to ignoring the resulting bout of warm and fuzzy feelings defrosting him, _urgh_ but he finds that he doesn’t mind. “Mind the thigh!” He squeaks when someone’s hand nudges it by accident.

“Sorry,” Nanosounds says. She adds with a blissful sigh, “I love _group hugs_.”

“This is so stupid,” Rythian mutters, jostling someone’s arm (Lalna’s) that’s slipping dangerously close to his ass.

“What are you talking about, this is _great_ ,” Lalna says, clearly enjoying it just as much as Nanosounds is.

“I hate to be a party pooper, but we should probably see to Benji,” Will apologetically points out, “But he did sound rather upset. Said something about ‘Strippin going missing in Lynchwood’, so we should go.”

They break up the group hug (Lalna and Nanosounds doing so with great reluctance), stepping away from one another and trying their best to pretend that a grinning Ravs and Teep hadn’t been watching the entire time.

Ravs had nudged Teep, whispering, “Aw.” Teep had just shrugged and given Ravs a bored look (or what felt like one).

“You two want to come along?” Rythian asks the two. “Ah, Teep, this is yours by the way.” He hands over their spare shield, also glad to be rid of the stupid thing (not wearing another shield, ever, if he can help it).

“Pass, but I’ll see if Zoeya wants to send Saberial instead.” Teep takes and pockets the shield. “There’s a population of skags she wants us to tag there and I don’t feel like getting bitten today.” 

“I see. Thanks for the great game, Teep. We’ll see you later.”

“Later.” Teep jumps off the side of the building. That leaves Ravs. Rythian expects him to decline the invitation if Teep isn’t tagging along (and depriving him of the opportunity to troll them).

“Sure, why not? Nilesy can handle the Crooked Caber on his own for one more day.” Ravs smiles and Rythian is suddenly not sure in whether or not he’ll regret extending a mission invitation to him.

He has minor flashbacks from Ravs and Teep terrorizing him when working on missions together, back when it’d just been the three of them. What has he _done_?

\--

Saberial joins them at Lynchwood via Fast Travel, greeting them with a cheery wave and an enthusiasm that reminds them all of Zoeya. Clearly she’s in a good mood. Even if they’re here at Lynchwood on what appears to be a rescue mission, she’s not fazed in the slightest by it, taking it in stride.

“Tagging the skags can wait,” is her firm insistence (which earns her a ton of cool points in Nanosounds’ book, as if she’s not _cool_ enough already).

The six of them troop off to go see sheriff Martyn at his office. It’s easy to remember the way. As they wander through the formerly bandit ridden town, the Vault Hunters try not to remember the unpleasant circumstances behind that experience.

Martyn is waiting outside, with Benji standing opposite him. The two look incensed, engaged in an full-blown argument that causes the two’s faces to distort into identical expressions that careen wildly between exasperation, shock, disappointment, bitter anger and back again. 

The two show no signs of stopping even as the Vault Hunters, Saberial and Ravs walk up. Benji jabs an accusing finger at Martyn. Martyn rebuffs him, giving a denying, abrupt shake of his head, eyes flashing under the brim of his cowboy hat. Somewhere in the back, Will throws a jealous glance at Martyn for that hat.

“Hey, now, what’s going on?” Saberial strides forwards before the others can stop her. 

She steps in between the two men who throw her dirty looks for interrupting. Upon seeing who she is, they school their faces into neutral looks that still somehow contain a trace of underlying resentment for one another.

“ _Sheriff_ Martyn doesn’t want to send search parties down into the mines to help find Strippin,” Benji spits out, his words rolling off his tongue with a heaviness that betrays his simmering anger.

“I can’t spare _anyone_ right now,” Martyn insists, “which I’ve been telling Benji for the past ten minutes.”

“What about all those deputies of yours, then? Are they there just to make you look _good_?” Benji snaps back without hesitating, his mouth pulled back in a grimace as he rounds on Martyn once again. 

How awkward.

The Vault Hunters aren’t sure what’s going on even though Benji’s literally just told them but are unsure how to interfere without inciting further conflict. Rythian shoots an imploring glance at Ravs, asking him to ‘do something, anything, this isn’t getting anywhere’. 

Ravs shakes his head. This isn’t his town so he’s got no leverage here, especially if the sheriff is being pissed off right now at the very person they’d come to help. And last he heard, the sheriff had been very close to putting a bounty on his head if it hadn’t been for the Vault Hunters intervening.

It’s in his best interests to play nice, even if he meant doing literally nothing as much as he wants to take Benji’s side because he knows exactly how it feels to lose someone, despite possibly being mistaken.

“What are you, _deaf_? What’s it take to get it into your thick skull that my deputies are all _busy_ right now?”

Benji ignores him, opening his mouth once more. “Or is it that you don’t really give a shit about the only two railroad workers left on Pandora who’ve been working their asses off for the past week or so to try to fix your train lines which were on the verge of being scrapped?” 

He sucks in a shallow breath after, tears pricking the corners of his eyes because why won’t the sheriff _help him_ , after everything he and his partner have done for him?

Martyn’s lip curls, another sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue that he swallows. “That’s it-” He moves forward to shove Benji, taking a quick little step that puts him within range. Benji mirrors him, sensing an incoming challenge and rising to meet it head-on.

Saberial shoves them both apart. “That’s _enough_. Let’s go inside and get to the bottom of this.” She gives them both a cursory look that makes them think twice about trading more blows with words, falling into an uneasy silence. “Without yelling.”

The Vault Hunters and Ravs follow. Saberial pulls out a chair. Benji collapses into it, taking off his hat and scrubbing his face with a dirt-stained hand, holding it there as if he’s trying to hold back his frustration and anger by will. His body shudders with the effort, his wide shoulders trembling.

Martyn leans against a nearby wall, mouth set into a deep but troubled frown that his guise of impassivity doesn’t quite cover up.

“Let’s take this from the beginning, starting with Benji,” Saberial gently says. Benji looks up, throwing her such a grateful look as if she’s the only one who makes sense in this backwards town (and planet).

“You’re not allowed to say anything until he’s finished,” Ravs says to Martyn, giving him a pointed look. Martyn wrinkles his nose as if he dislikes that idea but remains silent, fully aware that he’s outnumbered.

“As you probably heard, me and Strippin are here in Lynchwood to try to fix the train lines that some asshole blew up with explosives, way back before Martyn became sheriff,” Benji starts. 

He hiccups as if the mere mention of Strippin is enough to bring him to tears because his eyes start to water again. He has to stop to wipe his eyes on the back of his hand. It leaves smudged trails.

“Keep going, we’re listening,” Saberial says, kindly. They (even Martyn) all patiently wait for Benji to recover.

“We’ve been relaying tracks down in the mines where nobody ever goes and about two hours ago, we split up to do some work.” Here, Benji starts to sound progressively more distressed, fingers squeezing his hat and crumpling it because the only other thing to do is cry and he doesn’t want to do that. “After about an hour, I checked my map and his marker’s _gone_. I couldn’t find him, even after searching the area and nothing, not even his tools-” His voice cracks on ‘nothing’, mangling the word and leveling out after.

“People go missing all the time down there, it’s just probably bad reception-” Martyn rudely interrupts, but a single look from Ravs and Saberial cause him to clam up. He settles back on the wall with a scowl.

“And the real reason why Martyn won’t send anybody is because all his deputies are all busy searching for their missing eridium mine workers, but he won’t help me search for Strippin himself because he’s a fucking _coward_.” Benji fires his last round, slumping down his chair and lets out a quiet, mournful sob, his hand folding over his face.

Ravs leans over to give a comforting squeeze to his shoulder. “And you want us to help you find him instead, because you can’t trust the sheriff to pull his weight around here,” He says, his voice light.

“Hey, like I said, people go missing all the time down there-” Martyn repeats, much more loudly as if they hadn’t heard him the first time. Saberial walks right up to him, putting her face right in his, an indignant fire (he hadn’t thought possible, she always seemed so calm) burning in her gaze. Fear flutters in his gut.

“Is that why your eridium mine workers went missing as well? You think it’s just poor reception but there’s no need to send that many people down underground just for ‘poor reception’,” Saberial points out in a low voice. “Last time I checked, you had about fifteen deputies at your disposal. How many deputies does it take to fix poor reception?”

Something in her voice lets them all know that what she’d just said isn’t a joke.

Martyn looks incredibly uncomfortable, an open book. Saberial reaches in and rips out another page while she can. “You’re not telling us something, so I think you’d better tell us what’s _really_ going on.”

A host of conflicting emotions play out over his face. Martyn caves and slumps into a chair next to Benji. “You win.” He lets out a hollow laugh, lifting his head with a tired, world-weary look on his face, shadows under his green eyes. “Strippin’s not the first person who’s gone missing.”

“You said ‘people go missing all the time down there’, so what’s up with that?” Will says, crossing his arms over his chest because that’d been bothering him, ever since Martyn had said it.

“It’s been happening for a month now-”

“And you didn’t fucking tell us before we started _work_ -” Benji rises out of his chair, looking like he wants to punch Martyn. Ravs gently squeezes his shoulder again. A warning, this time. Benji slumps down once more, looking unhappy and with tears still running down his face into his beard.

“Workers have been vanishing and we can’t figure out _why_. My deputies have been over almost every inch of the mines and they can’t find anything! It’s like they’ve all just upped and vanished into thin air!” Martyn slams a fist onto the table, causing the Vault Hunters to jump. He moves to do so again, but Saberial grabs his hand.

“Stop, you’re hurting yourself,” Saberial says, firmly but gently. “There’s more, isn’t there?” 

Martyn closes his eyes, letting his hand fall into his lap instead once she lets go of him. He continues in a broken, resigned voice, “I’ve had to tell their families and friends that there’s nothing we can do except for sending out more search parties and what do we find? _Nothing_! We might as well just close the mines and find a different source of income.”

There’s nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing for the next thirty seconds. Eventually, he regathers his composure and straightens his hat, opening his eyes again, back to being the sheriff and not a man at the end of his rope, struggling to not let it go even as the weight on his shoulders is almost crushing him.

“Is that all?” Saberial asks him.

“I’ve told you everything,” Martyn evenly says. “There’s nothing else.” He nods like he’s sure of it.

“It’s good thing you called us, then,” Saberial says. “We’ll go down into the mines ourselves and see what’s really going on.”

“Wait, we’re going into a place where people have been known to _disappear_?” Lalna shoots her an alarmed look. She turns to give him a mildly amused glance.

“We’re not defenceless like those workers are,” She confidently points out, jabbing a thumb at her chest. “I think we got pretty odds of solving this with such a crack team, especially with a galaxy famous mercenary leading you.” 

Surprisingly, this gives Lalna a confidence boost instead of doing the reverse. “Meet the dream team, then,” He jokes, pushing a grin onto his face.

“We’ll find Strippin,” Ravs says to Benji. “That’s a guarantee or your money back.” That coaxes a hesitant smile from Benji. He sniffs, rising out of his chair.

“I can lead you through the mines since I know them.” Benji shoots a disdainful look at Martyn next. “I want to look for Strippin as well.” He’s a little sympathetic towards him, since he hadn’t known that Martyn had also been facing his own problems as well. “First, Martyn’s just got to let us into the mines.”

“It’s not like I can kick you lot out after I’ve told you everything,” Martyn grumbles but gets up as well.

He leads them through town, past the train station and into the outskirts of town. The lift can only take up four people at a time. They’re forced to split up and wait for the lift to take four of them up first, waiting for it to come down and repeating the process before all of them are finally on top of the cliff.

They walk some more, unable to chatter because of nerves, this time.

Eventually, they’re all standing in front of a cordoned off area, yellow tape marking the entrance to the mines. There’s a locked gate underneath all that tape that Martyn fiddles with, pushing it open with a rusty squeak of hinges.

“I’m not going in. I can’t afford to go missing,” He calmly tells them, adding pointedly, “I warned you about what goes on in the mines, so if you go missing…” He straightens up, staring each of them straight in the eye. “It’s been nice working with you. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Benji dryly says, ducking underneath the tape and marching into the mines without a single bit of fear. He vanishes into the darkness, Saberial following him. 

“Wait, don’t go in there on your own just yet-” She calls out to him. She too, vanishes. Even her voice is gone and she’d only taken a few steps in.

Lalna and Will glance at each other, gulping their fear down (almost lodging in their throats) before following, Ravs taking up the rear, Rythian and Nanosounds in the middle. Lalna let out an an almost inaudible squeak as he walks forwards, he can’t see, it’s too dark and to top of it off, they’re going into an area that’s probably full of spooky shit. 

He does not like spooky shit. 

Even the most innocuous and toned down of stories as a kid was enough to give him nightmares for a solid month after his dad read out one of them. Lalnable had _loved_ them though, much to his chagrin and wanted to hear more. Lalna on the other hand, had retreated to his parents' bed, not wanting to hear another word of those _horrible_ stories.

There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. For a moment, Lalna thinks he might have died. The light engulfs him, freeing him from the dark. It fills him with a sense of security he hadn’t realized he’d missed until it’d been gone. He slots it back where it belongs.

He and the others find themselves in a giant, circular room with fluorescent lights dangling from metal hooks beaten into the ceiling. His eyes stop watering after a few seconds. Lalna gapes at what is probably his dream room.

The room is filled with an assortment of machines (he feels a familiar itch to go and see what they all do) scattered here and there, stacks of different metal railings lining the walls, almost hitting the rocky, rounded ceiling. Workbenches laden with tools fill every other spare corner. 

A rainbow of wires snake across the floor, a carpet of tape and scuffed rubber mats topping them and preventing any accidental tripping. Workerbots silently slumber in their charging stations. Three of them are missing from their stations.

Benji walks over to a bench, sliding open a metal toolbox and yanking out a series of chunky, rectangular devices barely bigger than his hand that he gives to each of them. Nanosounds exclaims with delight. It’s an electric lantern. She experimentally turns hers on by thumbing the switch on the side and turning it on the way they’d came. 

The beam of light cuts straight through the darkness like it’s nothing more than cardboard and the light is a pair of sharp scissors. Lalna turns his over, marveling at the handiwork of the lantern. Someone bumps him, sending it flying out of his hand. 

“No!” Lalna shouts, diving after it. It hits the ground with a ‘clatter’ and skitters off, only to be stopped by the edge of a rubber mat.

“Sorry,” Will absently says, also admiring his. “Oh, you dropped yours.” He scoops it up from the ground, wiping it off with the sleeve of his shirt (and Lalna then notices that there’s a small series of barely visible crosses on his clothes, wondering how and when they’d gotten there). He holds it out to Lalna.

Lalna snatches the lantern from him, peering at it. There’s no scratches, not even a dent on it. “Is it broken…?” Will asks, with a touch of anxiousness in his voice. “I’m sorry, I should have seen where I was going, maybe we can-”

“It can take a beating. I dropped a solid metal rail on mine once and it still worked after,” Benji says, noticing Lalna’s fretting. “Strippin-” He pauses, closing his eyes but then opens them, pressing on with his story with more resolve, “Strippin has a habit of taking his off and leaving them in the most ridiculous places. He claims he loses them, so that’s why we have so many.”

“I see.” Lalna clips his next to the knot of his lab coat. He deadeyes Will for a second, to which Will lets out an amused sound like he can’t believe Lalna’s just deadeyed him.

“I said I was sorry and besides, it’s not like it’s broken!”

“I’m sorry, Will,” Lalna suddenly says. Will stops and stares, unsure what he’d done to warrant an apology before it clicks in his mind.

“I mean it,” Lalna adds, then runs off to join the others before Will can refuse, argue or something. 

In his head, his mind is racing with thinking about ‘why did he pick this moment to apologize, it sounded so silly, he’s got the worst timing, they’re all about to go and die gruesome _deaths_ , god fucking dammit’. 

But at least he’s made peace with Will.

Will taps him on the shoulder. Lalna whirls around, a gun already in his hand. Will glances down at it, then back up at Lalna. He raises an eyebrow, causing Lalna to feel sheepish. He puts the gun away. This is it, Will’s about to declare that they’re not friends anymore. He braces himself for what’s coming.

“Forgiven,” Will says. “Not forgotten, but forgiven.” He holds out a hand, looking at him expectantly. Lalna blinks, taking it like any moment, he’ll go ‘just kidding’, punch him in the face and storm off. That doesn’t happen. Will grins at him and lets go of his hand to playfully shove him in the shoulder. “Now let’s go and be scared together, like _real bros_.”

“We are so going to _die_ ,” Lalna says, nervously laughing.

“Yeah, I know, but we died doing what we loved: sticking our noses where they don’t belong.” Will lets out an amused snort after.

“Ew, that’s a really gross way of putting it,” Lalna groans.

“Stop taking my words the other way!”

In front of them, Nanosounds eyes Rythian from the corner of her gaze. He eyes her as well. The two of them decide not to comment on the banter between Will and Lalna. One more thing they’d missed.

She walks much more slowly, deliberately falling behind everyone else save for Ravs, who’s walking in the rear. He refuses to let her pass with a slight shake of his head but she leans in to whisper to him, just for a few seconds. This goes unnoticed by the others, until Ravs nods and she pulls away.

Nanosounds creeps up behind Will and Lalna, drawing closer and closer until she can almost touch them. She shoves them in the small of their backs while screaming, “Boo!”

Will and Lalna react like they’ve just been electrocuted, jumping about a metre high into the air. They let out twin shrieks of pure terror that echo down the passage, grabbing onto the nearest person (each other). Their shrieks causes everyone else to start and whirl around in panic, guns being drawn and beams of light bobbing erratically, blinding one another.

Only Ravs who’d been in on her plan starts to laugh along with her, their laughter rebounding off the walls of the mines as the aftershocks of the commotion start to fade, the others soon joining in.

 

Lalna and Will look down at their entwined hands. Lalna only barely manages to stop himself from rocket punching Nanosounds in the face, the flames of his arm lighting up the passage briefly before he shuts off the mechanism, almost hyperventilating.

Will looks like he’s about pass out any second now, his grip loosening on Lalna’s hand.

“I just want to let you know before I pass out, that you’re a real _bitch_ ,” He haughtily says to Nanosounds, before falling back in a dead faint, eyes rolling up into the back of his head. Lalna grabs him in time before he can bang his head on the floor.

He glares at her. His poor heart is having a hard enough time being down here, let alone having her add to its already heavy burdens. Lalna hands Will over to Ravs, who easily hefts him into a fireman’s carry across his broad shoulders with a complaint, careful not to jostle him any more than he needs to.

Nanosounds huffs. “I didn’t think he’d faint.”

“That was mean, but hilarious!” Saberial says to her, sounding impressed. The two high-five. “I’ve never seen anybody actually _faint_ from a jump scare. Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of things in my life. He must really hate them.”

If Parvis had actually been there, he’d have rolled his eyes and said ‘well, duh, he hates horror of any kind’. But he’s not and all of them learn something new about Will Strife that day without having to actually ask him.

They all hurry to catch up with Benji, who’d gone on ahead, his lantern a pencil-thin line in the distance. 

It’s so quiet in the tunnels. The only sounds are their breathing (why is it so _loud_ ) and the scuffle of boots scraping along the ground, accompanied the light ‘tap’ of pebbles being trod on or kicked out of the way. Every noise, no matter what it is, startles Lalna, not helping his jumpiness on bit, keeping him on edge.

To stop Nanosounds from scaring him again (if she even thinks about it), he picks up the pace until he’s side by side with Rythian, deliberately putting him between her and him. She sees this and smirks. She no intention of scaring the poor guy again. 

Once is enough since she’s not that cruel as to permanently traumatize him, if she hasn’t already.

“We’re here,” Benji announces. He’d missed out on all the excitement back along the passage when he’d continued walking, unawares of the others lagging behind him. “This is where I last saw Strippin’s marker.” He moves further in, only to stop and squint at the end of the passageway to make a worried observation. “The rails he put down end here. I can’t see the workerbots he took with him.”

The remaining six carefully mind their footing, trying not to step on heels or bump each other to see what he’s talking about. There’s nothing but rails that seem half-laid out, going nowhere. Underneath them is a giant hole as if the ground had fallen out from underneath Strippin at the worst possible moment.

Will Strife wakes, struggling on Ravs’ shoulder in confusion before realizing where he is. “You can put me down, Ravs, I’m awake,” He whispers in a slightly strangled voice. Ravs does so, checking that he’s fine before drawing away. 

“Let me know if you’re feeling faint again, Will. I’m always happy to offer any assistance.”

“Thanks, I’ll er, keep that in mind.” Will moves to stand by Lalna, not trusting himself to speak around Ravs, especially after that _offer_. Ravs chuckles quietly to himself, knowing exactly what he’d said.

“I think Strippin might have fallen,” Saberial concludes, examining rails and the hole underneath them. “There’s a good chance he might still be down there,” She adds, just in case Benji misinterprets her words.

Benji crouches down to peer into the hole, shining his lantern's light into it to try to see the bottom. “I can’t see the bottom from here, but there’s some sort of cavern underneath-” He stands and takes a step back, only for the cracks from the holes to spread out, widening to creep underneath his feet. “Oh, _shit!_ ”

Saberial makes a futile grab for him as the floor caves in, taking him with it. The last thing she sees is his fearful expression. “Benji!” Rocks tumble down into the darkness. In the distance down below them is a tiny light that bobs up and down as if he’s looking around.

“I’m fine!” His shout echoes up to them. “I’m in a very big cavern full of…” He pauses. When he speaks again, his voice hitches, ”Oh, fuck, this is _gross_ , I’m gonna throw up.”

“What’s down there?” Nanosounds calls down to him, hating the suspense.

“You might want to come and have a look for yourself but it’s really fucking disgusting. There’s bones and bodies…” Benji unhappily reports, voice pitched like he might be holding his nose.

“We’re all going down,” Saberial announces. She eyes them all as if to say ‘and I’d better not find out if any of you chickened out’ before leaping down into the hole.

“Ladies first,” Ravs cheerfully says to Nanosounds, ushering her towards the hole. 

She rolls her eyes but seems flattered by his chivalry, vanishing after Saberial. The rest of the Vault Hunters and Ravs (carrying one Will so that his stitches don’t rip from the impact of landing) jump down once her lantern stops moving, trying not to land on each other or trip upon hitting the ground. 

Glad that the dark is hiding his face, Will mutters his thanks and limps over to Lalna, the two of them struggling to keep their nausea contained.

The smell is _indescribable_ , causing those with weaker stomachs to gag and want to retch from the second they descend into the cavern.

Skag droppings, decomposing bodies and rotting meat are rolled into one foul package. It hits them like a sudden punch to the gut, winding them. It’s worse since the air they breathe is now thick with the stench that they’re forced to inhale.

Benji’s since equipped an Oz kit scavenged from one of the bodies, looking like a person wearing an upside down bowl on his head that shimmers every few seconds. He tosses Oz kits to the few Vault Hunters (Nanosounds, Lalna and Will) that seem green in the face. Saberial pulls her own one on and activates it.

Rythian pulls his scarf up higher. It doesn’t completely block out the smell but it helps, somewhat. The cavern itself is barely lit up by rusting and half-broken lanterns that sputter out but relight a few seconds later, somehow teetering on the verge of dying for good or still clinging to life.

The corpses of broken machinery and bots litter the ground, seemingly having been torn apart with great force. Tools and goods long abandoned form an unsettling, misshapen undergrowth around their feet. Lalna picks up a gun by his feet and finds that it’s caked with a fine layer of dust and a reddish tint splashed across the body.

He puts it back, not wanting to incite the wrath of anything dead if he takes it, more on edge than ever.

There’s a distinct sound that Rythian barely picks up over everything else. It sets off his nerves, raising red flags. He doesn’t like being in the dark like this, especially if he’s the only one with night vision and the others are going to be shooting blind, following his lead. There’s a chance that they might hit one another or worse.

“Does anyone else hear loud breathing?” He tentatively asks, which silences everyone as they ponder what his question means. His night vision kicks in as he turns his gaze from the too-bright lanterns that swing into his line of sight, almost blinding him. “Everyone, turn off your lanterns so I can do a sweep of the room.”

The others hasten to obey, lanterns shutting off and plunging them all into complete darkness. Somebody (who sounds like either Lalna or Will or both) lets out a small unhappy sound but otherwise, keep their lantern switched off.

A giant shape looms in the dark, two hundred metres away. Rythian scrambles back, straight into Nanosounds who yells, shoving him forwards, causing him to stumble. He rights himself, gaping at the shape slowly moving towards them.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” He breathes out, unable to believe his own sight.

“What is it?” Ravs asks him, sounding unconcerned despite the situation they’re in. “You’ll have to paint us an intimate picture, with words.”

“You’re not going to believe this,” Rythian shakily replies, still not taking his eyes off the sight. Is he scared? Yes. There's no shame in that. Is he scared, more so than usual and sounds like it? Double yes. “I’ve seen skags that are _big_ but this one is about the size of a rakk hive.”

“What? Don’t be silly, skags can’t grow that big,” Saberial laughs but she sounds unsure. She then muses out loud, “Unless they’ve been able to find a constant source of food…the _miners_. If they’ve fallen into here and this skag’s been eating them for a month…” She trails off, unable and unwilling to finish her train of thought.

“And Strippin,” Benji breathes, coming to an awful conclusion. “ _Oh no_.”

“It’s coming towards us,” Rythian quietly says, adding, “I also can’t see a way out from here, so it looks like we’re trapped.”

“Might be one where the skag is coming from,” Ravs points out. “Only thing to do is get ready to run.” He sounds serious for once, already pulling out a gun and turning on his lantern again. Everyone else switches theirs back on, following his lead. “Or kill it.”

“Has anybody fought skags before?” Saberial tentatively asks. “Just making sure we all know what to do.”

“Only very small ones,” Will says. The technical sized ones at Digistruct Peak seem _tiny_ compared to this one.

“Well, aim for the mouth and eyes if you can since their hides can be really tough, especially for this one that’s grown to this size,” Saberial says, adding dryly. “Also, try not to get eaten.”

“What do you call skags this size?” Will asks, a note of irony in his voice. “I’d called it ‘lunch’ but it seems like the tables have turned.”

“Raid boss,” Ravs automatically supplies. “That’s about the only term that comes to mind and I think it’s rather fitting.” They can hear the smile in his voice like he might be looking forward to prospect of a worthy challenge at last.

“I’ve taken on rakk hives before, so this can’t be any different,” Rythian says, more to inspire confidence in himself than for the others. He lowers his night vision, enough to see if it goes dark again.

“Here it comes. Get ready,” Saberial warns, hefting a laser into her hand, her grip tightening around it. Everyone switches their lanterns to low light mode, waiting for the inevitable moment the skag enters.

The giant skag moves forward, the ground and cavern shaking with every single step. Its entire body fills up the cavern, blocking off their exit unless they can make it past its legs that threaten to squash them if they’re caught underneath a paw. A giant pink, thin tongue lolls out, scenting the air.

It smells them and lifts its head, appearing to perk up at the idea of a potential meal. Several meals, at that.

Rancid breath (almost like rotten eggs) adds to the overall smell of the room. Thanks to the Oz kits everyone is wearing, save for Ravs, who’s adapted to the smell quickly and Rythian, with his thick scarf pulled up past his nose, it’s almost unnoticeable.

Lalna and Will forget to scream, their terror silencing them. Nanosounds would have joined them if she wasn’t so busy staring, it’s impossible, nothing could grow that _big_.

The skag swings its head around at the nearest two, Rythian and Saberial. Moving faster than any of them had anticipated, the skag leans forward and devours the two in one gulp. Or would have snapped up Rythian, if Ravs hadn’t shoved him out of the way and gotten eaten instead. 

In slow motion, all Rythian had seen was a giant bifurcated mouth with globs of saliva sticking to the dark pink inside heading straight for him. He’d lifted his gun, the perfect opportunity to shoot, only for a familiar hand to shove him aside to take his place.

There’s a splatter of blood, a shot cracking. A misshapen chunk of pink flies out past him, hitting the ground with a ‘splat’.. The skag roars in pain, mouth snapping on Ravs and Saberial, throwing its head back to swallow, its front paws stomping the ground. The cavern shakes as the roar reverberates all around them, right down to their bones, jarring them.

It never liked it when its meals fought back. It appears to hack, opening and closing its mouth, revealing a burnt pink tongue with orange flames darting along the underside of it.

If Ravs managed to shoot off a chunk of its tongue, then the burning must have been Saberial’s touch. It doesn’t erase the fact that the skag had taken out their two strongest fighters; Rythian turns and shouts at the others, despair laced into his voice.

“Move while it’s distracted, I’ll cover you!” He can teleport out of the way if he needs to, but the others can’t, lessening their chances of survival. He wants nothing more than to gut the skag to save Ravs. At the moment, he has to protect the others, at least get them to safety before rushing in to do the suicidal.

Lalna and Will drop Larry Robert and the Atomic turret, the two machines lighting up the room with missiles and gunfire. Nanosounds lifts a hand to summon her usual beasts, her tattoos glowing but she hesitates. What if she misjudges and ends up repeating history?

Even if her control is far better than before, thanks to Ravs’ tutelage.

Rythian gestures at several abandoned, sharp tools nearby, teleporting them at the skag. One of the tools (a pickaxe) embeds in one of its eyes, right underneath the armored plates protecting its eyes. 

The skag roars again, causing the ground to shake and rocks to fall from the ceiling. It charges towards him, trying to trample him to death. He teleports out of the way, ending up next to her.

“What are you doing? You have to get out!” He shouts at her. “It’s pointless to stay!” He doesn’t add that he’s the one staying but she doesn’t let that slide.

“You can’t take down that thing by yourself!” She shouts back. “We either all get out or we all stay and fight!” She throws a glance behind her, spotting Benji already in the distance and still running. They don’t blame him for wanting out, actually somewhat glad he’s safe. At least they managed to save him.

Rythian doesn’t know what to do. 

He’s always given the orders and the others have followed them if they saw no reason to object. The past week or so of training at Digistruct Peak’s been filled with nothing but frustration and bitterness on both sides. His usual orders have been met with nothing but scorn and passive-aggressiveness. Even if his orders earned them a brief victory for that area. 

Sooner or later, they all ended up dying simply because they couldn’t work together as a _team_. Ravs and Teep had really hammered home that point, proving that no matter how much they agreed, disagreed or trolled one another, they’re the epitome of teamwork.

He had relived that briefly when he’d joined them during the game of ‘capture the flag’, almost having sniped Lalna but at the last possible moment, had changed his aim so that he’d shot the wall instead.

Being on Ravs and Teep’s team hadn’t been able to wholly replace or erase the teamwork that he’d built up with Nanosounds, Lalna and Will Strife, though. He truly misses being in the latter team. 

Betraying his two best friends in an attempt to restore some semblance of his own teamwork had been worth it. Ravs and Teep had completely understood; he’d explained that desire to them, the night before the game and they’d consented to help him.

He knows that the other three Vault Hunters had seen him fighting Teep on the rooftop. His two best friends hadn’t seen that coming, though. He’d kept that all to himself until the critical moment. That hadn’t gone the way he’d planned but the sentiment is there. 

Lalna, Will and Nanosounds had seen what he’d wanted, a mutual desire to see things set right and now, things are only just beginning to go back to normal.

That skag is going to ruin everything he’s worked so hard to fix. With every fibre of his being, Rythian refuses to let that happen, even if he’s putting himself at risk by fighting it alone. Downsides of going on a rescue mission: even if you told your teammates to fuck off and save themselves, they’d stay anyway, ignoring direct orders to go.

Nanosounds knows what he’s thinking, what he _wants_ and crushes her hesitation in the palm of her hand. She trusts them to stay out of her way. More importantly, she trusts herself.

Her tattooes flare brightly, brighter than the first time she’d earned her Siren wings. Her wings materialize as she reaches out into the ‘other’ world and spawns four tentacles that grasp blindly, somehow finding the skag’s legs and closing around them, bringing it crashing to the ground. Spikes pierce muscles and joints, exiting through the other side, a perversion of crucifixion.

When it falls, it’s like an earthquake that sends a tremor across the ground, throwing up dust and debris. The skag struggles, of course, using every bit of strength it can muster to try to escape, snapping at the tentacles. Nanosounds proceeds to summon in replacements, pinning the skag down.

“Go!” She shouts in a strained voice. Whether she really means ‘leave or stay’ is ambiguous. Rythian, Will and Lalna choose to stay, their fates sealed in the mines below Lynchwood.

“Nanosounds, can you get the mouth open?” Rythian asks her. Her control is being stretched to its maximum but she’s going to _try_. Training at Digistruct Peak’s broken her former limits, installed new ones and she’ll be damned if she can’t try to break those as well now.

She spawns one tentacle, slamming it up between into the skag’s jaws. The skag tries to bite but howls in pain as it’s met with a mouthful of sharp spikes that impale its jaws and holds its mouth open. 

“Lalna, Will, get anything explosive in there while you can!” Rythian orders, unloading as many slagged rounds he can into the skag’s mouth via assault rifle. He reloads, slamming the magazines in the second his gun comes up empty until he’s almost drained of ammo, fingers going numb from the motions.

Nanosounds spawns her rocket launcher and tosses it over to Lalna. He barely manages to heft it up with his metal arm, teetering and tottering on the spot but grits his teeth and carries it over, even as his arm muscles are aching to the point of giving out.

Will drops his turret again and aims its red dot sight right into the skag’s mouth, pulling out a grenade. A figure charges forward from behind them, sliding to a halt next to him. It’s Benji, toting his own rocket launcher, face paling at being so close to the giant skag but he frowns, aiming.

Rythian gives the command, having run out of ammo at last. “Fire!” Will throws his grenades in, one after the other, the explosives set off by the combined fury of his turret’s missiles, Larry Robert, Benji and Lalna’s rockets.

“Benji! You came back!” Will shouts above the sounds. “You didn’t have to, we’re fine down here.”

“Strippin would have wanted me to kick its ass,” Benji says with a sad smile, panting, lowering his rocket launcher and taking his hat off to fan his sweaty face as if he’d sprinted the entire way back. He puts it back on his head, despawning his rocket launcher.

“Fair enough,” Will says, smiling back at him.

“It’s still alive, get back!” Rythian shouts, noticing that the skag is still somehow _alive_ , after that barrage of explosions and gunfire right into its maw. Along with their machines, Will, Lalna and Benji retreat, well out of biting distance.

The skag heaves against the tentacles, straining to escape. Nanosounds feels her control slipping and _no_ , she refuses to let that happen, they’re so _close_ to saving Ravs, Saberial and Strippin. The skag lets out a low, pitiful sound of pain, bleeding out from its missing jaws, blood pooling underneath its head but it still struggles to get upright. 

Unnoticed by the Vault Hunters and Benji, its abdomen ripples before exploding in an outwards rain of innards, skin, blood, muscles and bone, almost showering those standing close. Everyone’s shields shimmer as the debris coats the ground in a red film. The skag dies instantly, finally going still.

Nanosounds falls over, almost slumping completely onto one side if it weren’t for her arm keeping her upright, panting and confused. She could really do with a nap. A naps sounds nice. No, no, no, she has to find out what’s going on, what’s happening...?

Three figures push past the broken viscera of abdomen, emerging into the cavern, coughing but alive. Several other figures join them, unsteadily making a break for the exit without stopping to stay and see their rescuers. It’s the miners, rattled by having been almost digested alive by a giant skag. 

Little do their rescuers know is that it’ll be a story to be passed down in Lynchwood for years after: the heroic tale of how Vault Hunters banquished a man-eating beast, just like all the hundred stories or so floating around Pandora.

“Ravs!” Rythian dashes over, expecting him to have sustained some sort of injury but miraculously, Ravs is unharmed, covered only in guts. He wipes his face off with the palm of his hand, making a face after.

“Rythian! Why the hell are you still here? I told you to get the hell out,” Ravs says but seems pleased that Rythian’s still here.

“He wanted to kill the skag to save you,” Will interjects. Rythian shoots him a ‘immediately cease and desist or else’ look. Will mouths, ‘I’m helping’ in response but backs off, not wanting to find out what he means by ‘else’.

Lalna is busy despawning Larry Robert and walking back over to Nanosounds to return her rocket launcher. “Thanks for letting me borrow this.”

She gives a slow, tired shake of her head. “You keep it, I don’t think I can hold it right now.”

“Do you need help?”

“...Yeah, that’d be great.” She sounds embarrassed as she says that though. She’s supposed to be the one helping others, not the other way around.

“I’m giving you a hand,” He explains with a huge grin on his face, holding out his mechanical hand so that she can grab it. She rolls her eyes as she’s helped to her feet but says nothing. He lets her lean on him (huh, she’s so light).

Just behind Ravs and Rythian, Benji launches himself at Strippin, Strippin pulling him into a bear hug. 

“Benji! You have no idea how close I was to dying in there…” The rest of his sentence is muffled by Benji’s loud, relieved sobbing as he cries into his shoulder. Strippin pats Benji’s back, huffing but he seems glad to be alive, glad to see him.

Saberial grins, walking over to them and dusting off her bloody hands. “Job’s a resounding success.” She gives a little sigh after. “I didn’t get to tag the skag since it’s safer to put it down before it got too big for the mines, but I’ve already grabbed samples for Zoeya so she should be _very_ happy with those instead.”

“We should probably get out of here,” Ravs notes. “And I could do with a wash for my kilt and a good long, hot shower.”

“That’s not the only thing you could do with,” Rythian retorts before he realizes it.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right.” Ravs levels a serious look at him. “You know what I need as well?” He reaches out and grabs Rythian’s arm, dragging him closer and hugging him before he can escape. “A hug!”

“Ravs, _why_?” Rythian’s disgusted shout echoes around the chamber as whatever mess is Ravs is covered in is also smeared on him. Ravs starts laughing, releasing him. That settles his revenge of being backstabbed back on Digistruct Peak. He supposes that they won’t be needing that place anymore, judging by how things currently are.

Rythian is going to try to brush off as much mess as possible without having to actually touch it with his bare hands. He glares at Ravs.

“Sharing is caring,” is the resulting comment from him.

“I don’t see what he’s so worried about, being covered in skag guts isn’t that gross,” Strippin mutters under his breath. Benji grins and nods, his front plastered with some of the remains that’d ended up sticking to him when he’d hugged Strippin. Not that Benji cares, he has his partner back (worth it).

“It’s _unhygienic_ ,” Rythian points out sourly with a matching expression.

Strippin pretends to go cross-eyed, saying slowly, “Un-hy-gie-nic.” He stops looking cross-eyed and resumes talking in a sarcastic tone of voice, “What could that possibly _mean_ to me or Benji, who only shower every couple of days?”

Rythian refrains from commenting, smothering the urge to teleport Strippin into the skag’s remains. It’s petty but he is so tempted, just to hear him freak out. 

“He’s kidding, he’s the unhygienic one, I shower every day and he doesn’t,” Benji says. Strippin elbows him like he’s saying ‘shut up, don’t embarrass me in front of our saviors’. “Come on, let’s get out of here before another giant skag arrives,” Benji continues, elbowing him back with a giant grin.

Everyone throws a nervous glance around the room, hastening to leave (just in case he’s right and there is another giant skag around, maybe a bigger one).

“So, are you going to tell us how you got out of the skag?” Will asks Strippin as they’re walking out of the mines. It’s something he’s been trying to work out for the past fifteen minutes, finally having had enough of attempting to figure out that little mystery on his own.

Strippin snorts. “The skag wasn’t about to digest me that _easily_.”

“He was standing on high ground inside the skag’s stomach before the acid kicked in,” Saberial explains. “Ravs and I joined him and we met up along with the surviving miners.”

“I tried to punch the stomach’s lining to get it to throw us back up but all it did was give the skag indigestion,” Ravs interjects helpfully. Rythian throws another glare at the back of his head, which he pretends not to feel.

“I had dynamite, but the fuses were wet and useless until Saberial had a look.” Strippin brandishes one of the remaining sticks of dynamite (slick all over with a wet film) for Will to see. “She decided to have Ravs implant some into the lining since he was the only one who could shove it that far in.”

“It wasn’t that hard, since I’d already punched a little hole!”

“Then she rigged a temporary fuse from dismantling one of her grenades, hooked it up, smeared some orange shit on it, we took cover and you can imagine the rest.”

“That ‘orange shit’ was varkid molting liquid which has explosive properties, according to what Zoeya told me” Saberial corrects, causing Strippin to give her an interested look. “Good to know that she was right, I’ll have to thank her later.” She gives a little frustrated groan. “Urgh, I’ll also have to replace those samples.”

“You’ll have to tell me more about this ‘liquid’, since dynamite is kind of expensive…” 

“You want me to teach you how to rig homemade explosives out of varkid fluid and household objects?” Strippin eagerly nods with a maniacal glint in his eye. “That depends if you’re willing to wrangle varkids since they’re tricky little buggers.”

“On second thought, no.”

“Anyway, it was a bit tricky trying to rig the grenade to blow since the skag suddenly fell over sideways! It almost took us with it,” She adds, sounding fairly matter-of-fact. “If it weren’t for that, we’d have gotten out sooner.”

“That was us, sorry,” Nanosounds says from the back where she’s still being helped along by Lalna. “Trying to get you lot out the only we knew how.”

“And what would that be?” Saberial asks her.

“By kicking its ass,” Nanosounds says, earning laughter from around her. She smiles, satisfied because all is well, inwardly squashing the reminder that she’ll have to respond to her Mother’s invitation soon and how well that’ll go down with the others. She also has to pick a guest from one of her friends.

Outside of the mines, Martyn is waiting for them with two of his deputies. He tips his hat to them. “Dunno how you did it, but you saved the surviving miners from...a giant skag? Nevermind, we believe you.”

The wind carries the smell over to him. The corner of his mouth twitches as his deputies’ faces both turn a delicate shade of pale green. One of them sways where they’re standing, coming perilously close to being knocked off their feet. The other one pulls their bandanna up around their face.

Saberial strides over to Martyn, stopping in front of him. “If you’re offering a reward, we’ll take it.”

“I am,” Martyn affirms after a beat. “Several in, fact.” He briefly glances at the Vault Hunters then quickly looks away, his expression satisfied at a month long case finally solved.

“Great! I’ll take the usual, and little bit extra for this lot since they were a big help,” She says, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at Ravs, the Rail Bros. and the Vault Hunters.

Martyn is all too happy to comply, just so long as it gets them out of his face before he throws up his lunch and he makes himself look like an idiot in front of Ravs, the Rail Bros. and Saberial. The Vault Hunters, not so much since Rythian’s already seen how uncool he is with his favourite pastime.

\--

Rythian escorts Lalna to the new gun shop in Sanctuary Hole. The civilians keep as wide a berth as possible from him. He doesn’t notice or care, reaching into the pocket of his coat and gingerly teleporting a bit of paper into Lalna’s hand so it remains gut-free.

“Ravs gave me this for ‘saving him’, but I think you’ll get better use out of it,” Rythian grumbles, “I think he’s just trying to get me to buy brands other than Jakobs.” Lalna looks at him with such gratitude and excitement that he looks away, muttering awkwardly, “I’m going to go shower at the Crooked Caber. See you later.”

Lalna nods, enthusiastically thanking him. He practically skips into the gun shop, coupon clutched in his hand, almost crumpling it. Shaking his head, Rythian leaves to go see if Ravs will allow him the luxury of a shower that lasts more than fifteen minutes. He thinks he can feel a tiny glob of meat still stuck in his hair, for _crying out loud_. 

The gun shop smells of cigar smoke, saturating everything in a earthy scent mingled with of a particular wood that he can’t place. Inhaling it is such a pleasant change from what he’d experienced back at Lynchwood, that it causes Lalna to pause and be mentally catapulted back into a simpler time where he didn’t have to worry so much. 

He opens his eyes a few seconds later, only to find that he’s still on Pandora. In his gut, disappointment rears its head, chuckles, extending a finger and corrupting his feel good mood with a single touch and drawing back with a satisfied smirk, its job done.

Lalna starts when someone to his right starts to speak in a drawl that plods along at its own pace despite the chaotic world rushing on around or past it. 

“Welcome to the gun show, we got guns, goods and gear, only the best for Sanctuary Hole’s people, imported from off-world and being sold at fair and low prices. Or your money back. How can I help you this fine day?”

When he cranes his head in the direction of the speaker, there’s a man with a grey pallor to his skin reclining in a chair, his sandaled feet parked on the counter, a half-burned cigar in one hand. 

The strangest thing about him isn’t the color of his skin (because Lalna’s seen some weirdass and disturbing shit in Lalnable’s textbooks before and this doesn't come anywhere close), not the Hawaiian shirt with dollar bills sewn into the fabric, the expensive, shiny gold watch wrapped around his wrist or the bob style haircut neatly parted down the middle and shaved along the sides of his head.

It’s the beaglepuss glasses perched on the man’s face. It even has a plastic cigar underneath the furry black mustache. Despite the plastic cigar being present, the man continues to smoke a real cigar, somehow managing to not dislodge the other one. 

The man is exuding an aura of quiet confidence that Lalna suspects that if he’d asked the man to take them off, he’d be brushed off.

“I want to sell,” Lalna says instead, “I got a pack full of shit guns and I want to get better ones.”

The man exhales a cloud of smoke that’s blasted away by the tiny electric fan setup next to him, taking his feet off the counter to lay his cigar into a nearby silver ashtray.

“Show me what you got and what I offer is what you get, no haggling,” The man drawls. “Store policy.” He gestures dismissively to the sign taped onto the wall behind him. It’s already beginning to peel at one corner, the paper sagging.

Lalna squints in the semi-darkness at the sign. The rules are nonsensical and ridiculous enough that he decides not to ask about any of them. He pulls his digistruct module off his belt, lifting and shaking it so that a stack of guns fall out. They’re ones that he’d decided were utterly garbage.

Some of them date back to the time he’d visited Oasis (and it feels like he’d visited that place years ago, rather than a few months). The guns continue to spill out, clattering all over the counter until Lalna gives his module one last, rough shake. Nothing else comes out. Everything else is locked down in his inventory, in the ‘not to be sold’ category.

Lalna apologetically grins at the man, who shrugs as if he couldn’t care less. He starts to dig through the mess, pulling out guns and piling them into several different stacks. Lalna tries not to stare in fascination at the man, looking around the gun shop instead as he reclips his module to his belt.

From the outside, the gun shop seems like any other building in Sanctuary Hole. It’s a concrete rectangle with either only one story or two stories to it, with a crude metal roof to match. 

Except, there’d been a neon sign screaming two lines ‘GUN SHOP, GET YOUR BIG ONES HERE’ above the doorway. In smaller print in the shop’s window is a sign with the text ‘NO BLANKS WHEN FIRING, GUARANTEED OR YOUR OLD GUN BACK’. 

Underneath in small print is ‘provided it hasn’t been sold, dismantled, traded, exchanged, shipped off, destroyed, incinerated, shoved up my ass, etc.’ blah blah blah and assorted legalese on it that Lalna doesn’t care about.

The inside of the gun shop resembles a classy pawn shop, if a pawn shop stocked guns of every brand, size and make crammed into glass counters and on every shelf behind them, taking up almost every single wall. There’s even guns on the ceiling when Lalna looks up. A closer inspection reveals that they’re held there by duct tape.

“Mind your head. If a gun clocks you in the noggin, you get to keep it,” The man absently says without looking directly at him. “Store policy,” He adds, after a beat as if sensing Lalna’s confusion.

He is torn between wanting that to happen and not quite. On second thought, he’d rather remain concussion free because there’s a rocket launcher right above him that looks close to falling down. Just in case, he scooches to the right, out of the rocket launcher’s way.

The man takes a long drag from his cigar, exhaling scented fumes through his nose that the tiny fan diligently blows away. “I’ll pay about three hundred for these guns,” He lazily announces.

Lalna has no idea if he’s being ripped off, just simply being glad that he’s got free inventory space so he can retrieve the guns that Rythian’s currently carrying for him. The guns were rewards from Martyn and the Rail Bros., so he’s eager to see what they are.

“Deal,” Lalna says, only to suppress an urge to groan at having to wait. The man proceeds to spend about a minute counting out and extracting dollar bills from a suitcase that materializes onto the counter. Ignoring the perfectly functional cash register next to him.

After a minute that’s a whole eternity to Lalna, the man grins (white, straight teeth flashing briefly) and puts away the suitcase. “Just kidding, I’ll transfer the money to you via ECHO.”

Lalna just heaves a relieved sigh at not being made to endure more torture in the form of waiting. He accepts the money transfer the second it pops up in his HUD. “Thanks.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, and don’t be a stranger, I give discounts to repeat customers.” The man puffs on his cigar.

“Let me guess, store policy?” Lalna asks while he’s making his selections, now that his inventory has the space to hold them. The man quotes a price at him. 

Lalna remembers the coupon that Rythian had given him and hands it over. The man accepts and rattles off a new price that Lalna has no issue with. He pays the man a portion of what the man had paid him.

“Nah, I just like giving discounts,” The man reveals, grinning and gives a casual wave of his hand. “See you later, alligator.”

“In a while, crocodile,” Lalna easily replies, giggling under his breath because it’s been years since he’d last heard and said those phrases. He turns and heads outside, making his way to the Crooked Caber.

The gun shop owner is strange, but Lalna thinks that he’s not all that bad (except the glasses; what is the man hiding underneath them?). He ignores the niggling feeling that he’s seen the man somewhere before but dismisses it as nothing more than a hunch with no real basis or bearing. Anyone that friendly can’t be a threat, right?

In one of the Crooked Caber’s guest rooms, Nanosounds gestures for Will to come over as he towels off his hair, his towel sliding down onto his shoulders. He’s wearing his sleepwear, apparently having decided to forgo getting his suit wet after a much-needed shower (carefully minding his stitches the entire time).

“Hey, Will?” She starts, uncertain about proceeding because now that she really thinks about it, her plan doesn’t seem all that great.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Will moves to sit down next to her on the bed. “What’s up?”

“I have a dinner invitation from my Mother,” She explains, slowly, placing her words in front of one another like game pieces, sounding and looking serious the entire time. “I have room for one guest to come and…”

“And? Come on, don’t leave me hanging, Nano.” He jiggles the bed, impatiently, earning a roll of eyes from her.

“I want you to be that guest.”

“Where’s the dinner?”

“Hecate.”

“That’s a little far. This isn’t an ordinary dinner, is it?”

“To you, no. To me, yes.”

“And you can’t just say ‘no’? That usually works- _ow_! That’s going to leave a mark.”

“Sorry, I don’t know my own strength.” She does not sound sincere at all but he lets it slide.

“Forgiven. By the way, how much does it cost to use the Fast Travel Network between planets?”

“About 40 million for Pandora to Hecate. Per person.”

Will lets out an impressed whistle. “Are you sure you want me to be your guest? I mean, I am meeting your esteemed mother, after all and I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask, since have you seen how I dress and my mealtime manners-” He realizes he’s starting to nervously ramble for no particular reason and promptly shuts up.

“You look good no matter what you wear, and I’m sure you’re a better choice than anyone else on this planet.” She points out, adding with a small smile and gesturing his pants, “Even if those sweatpants that look like they date back from twenty years ago.”

“I’ll have know that those sweatpants are comfy, well taken care of and beloved!” Will defensively replies. “In any case, I’m glad you think that my fashion sense and demeanour is enough to appease your mother. Or you think so.”

“We’ll be gone for about five days, by the way.”

“Noted in my calendar, personal diary and reminders.” Will pretends to make a show of scribbling on an invisible notepad, then two more, earning a giggle from her.

“We’re going in an hour so if you got anything left to do, do it now. I’ll meet you at the Fast Travel Station then, Will.” There’s a pause where she looks like she’s about to say something but thinks better of it, moving to go and leaving him alone in the room.

Will decides to see if Parvis is available for an emergency repair job on his best suit. There’s a tiny nick on the sleeve that he’s been meaning to get fixed. (seeing as he’s going somewhere fancy, that simply won’t _do_ ). 

He also supposes that he’ll have to let Parvis know that he’s going to be away and the other Vault Hunters (plus a trip to the gun shop, to sell and buy). Unless Nanosounds is letting the others know right now, which she is. 

Rythian is lounging around in one of the booths on the second floor, having recently showered. He accepts her temporary absence (if he’d known she’d be going to Hecate, he would have accepted her invitation in a heartbeat, since it’s his homeworld).

She doesn’t give much of an explanation aside from ‘seeing her Mother for dinner and Will’s my plus one’. Rythian watches her descend the stairs with a resigned, unhappy look and hopes that she’ll be fine; parents could be a mixed bag.

\--

Sjin rubs at his eyes to stop them unfocusing from having stared at the thesis he’s been trying to decipher for the past two hours, with no such luck.

The start of the thesis had been easy enough to sink his teeth into, having been typed and printed out in thesis format. However, halfway in, it’d simply become handwritten notes, the writing steadily growing more erratic the further he continues reading.

Parsing formal writing is something he can do in his sleep. He’s already leafed through all the bits of paper drawings stuffed randomly into the thesis, having separated them out early on. Those had been clear enough, just little notes and drawings of scenery and ruins. Boring and practically useless to him. 

Even if he doesn’t exactly understand in the thesis itself, he can make out the gist of what’s being said. It’s not too different from business reports. Deciphering someone’s spidery handwriting is a slightly different issue, even if Sips’ writing is just as bad. But Sips isn’t the one who wrote the thesis, Rythian had been the one to author it.

Neatly penned script eventually lapsed into messy curves that looped and mutated into odd shapes barely resembling letters before returning to their original state as if nothing had just happened. 

On the page he’s on, the writing simply trails into the margins, skipping several pages altogether before resuming. Upside-down. Then sideways. Then as gibberish before the writing stopped altogether, nothing coherent to be gleaned from it.

Only drawings followed.

He’d turned the first page of thesis drawings this way and that, squinting. The drawings don’t make any sense. They just seemed so random, lines and shapes cobbled together like some sort of blueprint, but it’s not for anything he’s ever seen before. He’s seen plenty of blueprints before. The mining rig he’s on has one of the most detailed and incredible ones he’d ever seen. 

That’s _if_ it’s a blueprint to begin with, as a logical conclusion. It might not even be a blueprint he’s looking at. He has a feeling that these drawings defied logic as if some sort of alien power had guided Rythian to make these drawings and he’d simply given up on trying to be coherent near the end. These notes will only make sense to him and he’s not here. 

Whatever, it’s not what Sjin’s looking for. It’s also not his problem if Rythian’s gone off the deep end.

Sjin sighs, tired of staring at handwriting and drawings that don’t make any sense. He just flips to the very end of the thesis, expecting nothing there. He ends up staring at the last page, unable to believe his luck.

On that last page is a series of coordinates painted there (in an unsteady hand, the numbers almost blending and blurring together) in blood that’s long since dried into a dark brown that causes the last two pages to be glued together. Sjin carefully pries the pages apart with a loud crackle, making sure to keep the coordinates intact.

He smiles a victorious smile, jotting down the coordinates into his ECHO device, closing the thesis with a sharp ‘snap’ and getting up from his desk. Really, he should have just flipped to the last page in the first place since that’s all he’d been after, in reading Rythian’s abandoned and almost destroyed thesis.

There’s a Vault to visit and a puzzle to solve, that puzzle being ‘how to open it’. The thesis had definitely gone into detail about the latter early to spare him having to do mental gymnastics because of the author’s later atrocious and mad handwriting.

Slowly but surely, his plan is coming together. There’s just a few more pieces he has to assemble before he’s ready to execute it, like how to retrieve a supposedly ‘destroyed’ Vault Key from its self-proclaimed, nomadic and elusive guardian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this chapter’s title is brought to you by sipsco., who sponsored the punny take on ‘you might as well live’.)
> 
> this chapter clocks in at around ~39,000 words to make up for a lack of an update last month. i’m putting ‘tlvh’ on a bit of a break while i work on ‘how to influence bandits and befriend them’. there’s two chapters left for that story so i’m going to go ahead and try to finish that up.
> 
> the first chapter of that fic is already out (on [ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5839621/chapters/13458196) and [tumblr](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/beyond-the-borderlands%3A-how-to-influence-bandits-and-befriend-them)) and involves will, parvis and lalnable being BFFs so go and hit that up if you haven’t already. ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW IS THAT WILL SUFFERS FOR A WEEK IN THE NAME OF FRIENDSHIP. IT’S FUN.
> 
> everybody gets a bit of development in this chapter. it’s a step forwards rather than a step backwards. digistruct peak is my attempt at lampshading the training montage or camp trope frequently used because those are a+++. it didn’t quite work out at first (or how ravs intended it because THANKS TEEP) but somehow it did, in the end.
> 
> ravs actually hit up moxxi and moxxi hit up tannis on his behalf so he could borrow the place so interactions between the two hottest people on pandora is now canon in borderlandscast. he probably ‘promised’ to give her back the badass crater of badassitude after he stole it from her (which is how he managed to get corvax under his thumb in the first place).
> 
> the raid boss by the way is dukino’s dad! and skags really do grow that big in-game, though are exceptionally rare and require exceptional circumstances before they reach that size.
> 
> if you check everyone’s inventories now (everyone being the four main vault hunters), their inventories are now slightly updated to reflect their progress as a result of digistruct peak! everyone is currently level 30 to 35, while rythian’s advanced to about level 40-45. don’t worry, xephos and honeydew will probably be taken up under ravs’ wing so they’ll soon catch up. hatfilms are still hitting up the gym.
> 
> at this point, you can probably tell where everyone’s going with their skill trees. each vault hunter has a skill tree linked in their profile (which you can access over on the cast page). out of the three skill trees everyone has, only one will be left unfilled in regards to the final skill, but the middle skill of that tree can be filled out. the middle and final skills in the remaining two trees can be reached! don’t know what i’m talking about? play around with this [bl2 skill calculator](http://bl2skills.com/index.html).
> 
> that’s everything i wanted to ramble about. given how long this chapter is, there’s a few doodles done by the heroic siins over in [the tag](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/the-last-vault-hunter%3A-chapter-nine) on tumblr! many thanks to teagstime as usual for editing and providing fantastic commentary 8)


	10. A Bunch Of Lunacies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter doesn’t actually contain that much shooting or violence, but it does contain a dose of someone going through ptsd and associated panic attacks, plus trying to suppress it. there’s also a dash of frostbite and attempting to treat it. that’s about it for warnings.
> 
> i am also going to add an additional warning that there’s a significant reveal involving a certain character in this chapter, someone who hasn’t been named up until now. all mentions of that character is limited to all their actions preceding their demise. for a further explanation about this, please check out the author's notes at the very bottom of the fic.

The aging Fast Travel Station twitches, awakening from whatever automated mechanical slumber it’d fallen into. Four metal dust-layered bits creakily shudder in preparation to deposit a person. It begins slowly; this is not a process to be rushed, if ever, but not so drawn out that the person is left dangling precariously with one foot in digistruct space and the other stranded in reality.

The aggregation of loose particles come together, first as misshapen blobs that became angular and more defined as the machine begins to remember the digistruct blueprint it’d been sent. The shapes spreads upwards, solidifying as if someone had applied fast forward to a glowing, human-shaped object made entirely out of light. Blue and white light pours out from and around the moulded figure, a spectacle that tended to lose its excitement after the fifteenth time.

For some, the spectacle immediately faded after the first time. Lalna’s newly digistructed boots touch down. The soles grip the floor of the building, grinding into the loose tiles to make sure that it’s really floor and not something else entirely, like quicksand or an infinite drop into the Fast Travel network.

Glad to be free of the hideous tingling sensation of Fast Travel, Lalna exhales at last. He inhales shakily, reminding himself not to gasp or immediately sprint over to the curved window to check that he hasn’t grown a third limb. The ECHOnet is full of tall tales that stretched like taffy with every retelling. Growing a third arm (or whatever the Fast Travel Station randomly decides) is one of the ones that seemed to be on the verge of being plausible.

The inside of the building faintly smells of dust, not of the kind that inhabited places bereft of human presence but from the sort of absent-minded neglect that occurred when the owner isn’t inclined to dust it more than once a week. He knows, because he belongs to the latter category. His room (especially the garbage bins and fridge) on the mining rig will probably have sprouted intelligent life of its own at this point.

That’s one more reason why he’s so determined to reach that mining rig. There’s also the outstanding question of his employer having vandalised his living quarters as another practical joke. Knowing his employer, all the crap in his room will be glued down (again) with industrial strength superglue.

Truth be told, Lalna doesn’t mind the practical jokes. It’s the suffering through them that he doesn't particularly enjoy. It’s like being laughed at, not with. Alas, in the name of keeping his commissioner happy, he’d put up with them as much as he can, between attending to his favourite helper robot (who else but Larry Robert, of course), arm maintenance, catching up on his body’s demands, surviving the jokes, and maintaining the rig itself. Or rather, putting it together. There’s not a lot of difference since he switches what he works on, depending on his mood.

Remembering his reason for arriving in T-Bone Junction yanks him out of reminiscence and installs him back into the present.

To his amazement, the nausea’s wandered off to plague another victim elsewhere. He’s getting there in conquering what Lalnable annoyingly dubbed ‘sudden motion sickness’. In a mutter that’d probably not meant to be overhead, Lalnable had added ‘and I’m surprised your brain hasn’t just left yet due to all the knocks it’s suffered’. Lalna had thrown an rubber at him, years of petty retaliation using lobbed tiny objects causing Lalnable to glare at him after.

Being nausea-free calls for a minor celebration in the form of a vigorous fist pump. Feeling silly for reacting that way, Lalna promptly decides that it’s time to find the exit. Following the L-shaped corridor leads a cheered Lalna to the building’s lone metal door. The door’s crack at his feet consisting of a pencil-thin line of light lets him know that it’s still sunny outside.

That makes sense. It’d been day when he’d left Sanctuary Hole. The east coast wouldn’t be that behind in terms of hours, or that significantly to cause problems when he’d ECHOed Zylus to let him know that he’s arriving. Zylus is expecting him. Lalna wouldn’t be so rude as to randomly turn up without an invitation, preferring not to be blasted into smithereens by the town’s ever vigilant security system.

At this point in time, Nanosounds and Will Strife will heading off to have dinner with Nanosound’s Mother. Where, Lalna hadn’t quite caught as he’d left the Crooked Caber. Whatever, he’s got bigger problems of his own to deal with. After a cordial goodbye, Rythian’s gone down to the Caustic Caverns to hang out with Zoeya. 

Last Lalna saw, Honeydew had been focused on building a castle of cards on one of Ravs’ booth tables. By him, Xephos had been poring over technical papers, scribbling with a pen furiously enough to splatter ink on their face. On the second floor, Teep had been tossing and catching a tiny pebble, waiting patiently for the right moment (that Lalna suspects being once the card tower reached a suitable height).

Outside the bar, Lalna passed people putting up tarp on poles and extra shelter, under Turp’s exasperated directions.

“I know that the wet season’s not here yet but I am not about to have my parade rained down on!” He’d shouted, holding up the megaphone to call someone out for nearly losing a tent pole to the Caustic Caverns.

Five seconds later, a miniature projectile (shaped suspiciously like a pebble) whizzed from the second floor of the Crooked Caber. It flies smack bang into the centre of Turp’s sweating forehead, knocking him off his box. Lalna hadn’t stuck around to witness the aftermath of that, smartly diving into the Fast Travel Station before Turps could accuse him of anything.

Once Lalna sticks his head outside into the mildly gritty air, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s graciously been allowed back into T-Bone Junction. Zylus had given him permission to bypass the long way in, sparing him days of painful travel time. Compared to before, there’s a welcoming atmosphere. Minus the irritating scratch of sand particles being blown into his face, the town’s still quite pleasant, if unsettlingly empty of all other life. 

This time, Lalna isn’t as bothered by the invisible presence watching him. What goosebumps crawl up his flesh are wiped from his skin by the wind. He steps out, the wind tugging playfully on his clothes and loose hair, perhaps to get him to go right to the very edge of the town.

The distant, whirring sound of the Fast Travel activating jolts him into alertness. There are footsteps behind him. Lalna whirls around to face whoever it is with his arm raised to punch. He figures that Zylus probably wouldn’t appreciate it very much if he fired bullets into the Fast Travel Station or any part of T-Bone Junction. It’s go time with his fist. The plan sounds a lot braver in his head.

Ravs holds up a hand in greeting, flashing a broad grin. “Lalna! Fancy running into you here.” All the coy friendliness in Ravs’ tone could have won over strangers in a second flat. Would have, if there’d been any strangers around to hear it.

Feeling supremely foolish for being jumpier than a spiderant spotting roadkill, Lalna lowers his metal arm. It’s the same one that Ravs almost destroyed, Lalna can’t help but think, his metal fingers flexing into a weak wave of his own.

“H-hi,” He manages to say, returning the grin. “Ravs, what are you doing here?” He is also all alone with Ravs. It makes him want to go and hide underneath a bed for a thousand years, out of embarrassment.

If Ravs is definitely entertained by Lalna’s behaviour, he has the grace to not show it. “Zylus asked a ‘favor’ of me and here I am,” Ravs explains. His incredibly suggestive tone has Lalna wanting to cover his face next since there’s no bed around.

“I didn’t ask for any ‘favors’ from you, and even if I did, I doubt they’d include what you’re implying!” Zylus’ chagrined voice inserts itself into the conversation from behind Lalna.

“Zylus!” Lalna greets, looking and sounding all too glad to see him. Yes, good, here’s somebody else to blush along with him at the ridiculous amounts of flirting happening.

“Lalna, it’s good to see you. How are you?” Zylus is standing in the middle of the road, both hands braced on his hips. He’s doing his utmost best not to flush at what Ravs is saying.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Lalna replies, his voice all broken from awkwardness. He also doesn’t blame Zylus for failing to keep his composure. 

He has a feeling that the list of those immune to Ravs’ charm consists of a handful of names. The opposite list could wrap around Pandora at least three times, or at least, Ravs’ pinky finger. He could have the whole planet eating out of the palm of his hand and nobody would have minded doing so.

“You sure?” Ravs leaves the building, diligently closing the door behind him. The wind ruffles all their clothing and hair, contently tussling it as one would with the fur of a cat stretched out on someone’s lap.

“I’m sure,” Zylus firmly says, adding a patient sigh. His cheeks still contain traces of light pink, making it look rather endearing like he’s not that used to someone paying him that much attention.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, you know who to ECHO.” Ravs mimes a hands-free call. He winks, deliberately roguish. Zylus rolls his eyes, albeit with a smile of one who’s mostly used to the flirting.

“What’s this ‘favor’ Ravs is doing for you, then?” Lalna can’t help but investigate. He’d forgotten that the two had known each other. Also, he suspects that people generally did favors for Ravs, not vice versa. It must be super important for Ravs to travel all the way to T-Bone Junction.

At the relatively innocent inquiry, Zylus’ smile is replaced by a deep frown. His tone darkens, losing whatever light-hearted joviality had been in it. “Someone has to watch Daltos while I’m away.”

“Oh.” Lalna swallows, hiding the stab of terror at hearing the name underneath a thin mask of nonchalance. His eyes sweep the buildings and the road for any hint of approaching navy blue. Briefly, his eyes take in his shield’s current charge on his HUD.

The knowledge that Daltos is close by isn’t helping. The last he’d seen of Daltos, Daltos had been handcuffed to a radiator. It’s not a particularly dignified position to be in. Leaving him in the town on top of being personally involved in his forced removal from his gang still left Lalna both guilty and relieved, on the basis that someone as dangerous as him could be defeated. Daltos is still alive, after all this time. In what condition, Lalna doesn’t know.

“Did you think I’d leave him all alone in this place without supervision?” Zylus scoffs, his real eye flashing with annoyance. “I’m not that  _ stupid _ to let someone as dangerous as him run around.” Well, there’s Ravs and Teep, two people who’ve demonstrated that they’re just as dangerous as Daltos. The difference is that Ravs and Teep could be trusted.

“I didn’t say you were!” Lalna automatically says, gesturing an apology through both his palms raised to shoulder height. Reluctantly, he asks, “How is he, by the way?”

The look Zylus gives him is unreadable. Lalna swears that it’s torn between startlement and suspicion. It’s like Zylus hadn’t expected him to care. Thankfully, Zylus doesn’t ask why he’s so concerned.

“Sleeping, at the moment.” Nothing along the lines of ‘fine’ or ‘hurt’. The neutral statement doesn’t answer Lalna’s inquiry. And yet, it’s rather telling, in its own way.

Ravs’ expression says it all for the two of them, his eyebrows having risen at the flatness of Zylus’ tone. Someone could have compared it to a pancake and the pancake would have lost. “You were right to have someone watching him,” He smoothly says, as diplomatic as ever. 

His timely intervention prevents Lalna from saying anything that’d make the awkward conversation spiral into ‘so awkward that we’re all going to make up excuses to leave right the fuck now and pretend that it never happened’.

“I just hope I’ve asked the right person,” Zylus says, glancing at him. His expression softens, just a fraction.

“You certainly have! So, which building is he in?” Clearly eager to help, Ravs is already striding off towards the mix of buildings that form the center of T-Bone Junction.

Zylus opens his mouth to call after him, apparently deciding not to once he turns to Lalna. So, Zylus has made the choice to trust Ravs. “Where’s your Loader?”

“Here.” Lalna digistructs Larry Robert by raising his hand, courtesy of the concealed digistruct module he’d installed into the palm of his artificial arm.

Larry Robert spawns with a clunk of metal, arms swinging lightly in the breeze. A Loader idling by one of the buildings lumbers over to examine its cleaner cousin. The two machines stare each other down, blue eyes reflecting the other’s scarred chassis.

“I’ll be borrowing Larry Robert for a bit, if you don’t mind.” Zylus gestures for Larry Robert to follow a moment after Lalna instructs his beloved robot to do so. The other Loader watches the two leave before turning to Lalna.

Lalna tries to rub his eyes and almost punches himself in the face. There is no way that a Loader flashed him a thumbs up before going into sleep mode. He experimentally pokes the Loader, prepared to roll out of the way if it wakes in protest. It doesn’t budge, remaining folded up on the concrete sidewalk. He puts it down to a programming glitch. Some of the isolated Loaders have a rare known malfunction, pretending to be humans if deprived of contact for too long. Or they developed their own operating personalities.

Zylus hadn’t said how long he’d be gone for. Lacking anything else to do aside from hang around being bored, Lalna decides to go and find Ravs. Figuring out where Ravs is gone doesn’t take a genius level of deduction. All he has to do is follow the tracks created on the road and sidewalk. All that sand afflicting T-bone Junction is good for that, at least. 

Almost missing the building that Zylus lives in, Lalna pushes open the unlocked front door and ducks in. Now sheltered from the persistent wind, Lalna allows himself a second to appreciates the cooler air. He closes the door to stop sand ruining the clean, heavily scuffed tiled floor.

Right, it’s the living room through there, and the kitchen on the other side of the hallway. Nobody’s in either of those rooms. To help him out, Ravs’ voice drifts down the hallway. Lalna creeps closer to it, hoping that Daltos is probably in the building and Ravs has found him. There’s a door that hasn’t been fully closed yet, allowing Ravs’ voice to freely drift out.

Eavesdropping is not a good idea. However, Lalna’s dying to know how Ravs and Daltos get along. There’s the former’s tendency to flirt with every single person and the latter’s tendency for enacting murder at the first chance possible.

Maybe Zylus had been mistaken to leave the two alone in a room. Flattened against the wall, Lalna sidles closer to the ajar door. He’s expecting an epic fight. Instead, what he gets is a restrained conversation where Ravs is mostly  _ not  _ flirting.

“Daltos.” Ravs’ voice is casually pleasant, like he thinks that the situation isn't anything particularly serious. “You look well.”

“Ravs.” The barely suppressed, hostile edge in Daltos’ voice could have allowed a slip of paper to slice a technical in half. “What are you doing here?” He makes no comment about appearing ‘well’, as far as Lalna can hear. Maybe Daltos thinks that it’s an insult, coming from Ravs. Knowing Ravs, it probably isn’t.

“You look like you could use some fun.” There’s pondering footsteps towards the middle of the room. Hence, Ravs is moving towards the bed or wherever Daltos is. If it were up to Lalna, he’d be keeping well out of strangling range. Whatever Ravs is doing, he’d better have a backup plan if shit starts to hit the fan.

“I don’t want  _ fun _ , I want you to get  _ out. _ ” Daltos isn’t exactly pleased to see Ravs, from what Lalna can pick up of his grumpy voice. “And take whoever else Zylus asked to watch me.” Lalna sidles a teensy bit away from the door, just in case Daltos knows he’s there. Not likely, given that Ravs and Daltos are paying too much attention to one another to notice his sorry presence.

“Sorry, it’s just you and me, once Zylus leaves for Elpis.” Ravs is clearly careful not to mention that Lalna is here. He doesn’t know that Lalna is currently eavesdropping on what is rapidly turning out to be a private conversation between two people who could very easily turn him into skag food if they end up knowing that he’s just outside the door. “Plus, Zylus said I had to keep an eye on you at all times.” Not that Ravs is sounding at all sorry for choosing to stick to what Zylus had instructed. He sounds like he’s immensely enjoying the chance to corner Daltos.

“I won’t be a problem if you leave the room,” Daltos states like it’s obvious.

“Not happening. The only trouble you’re starting is if we both strip. Which you've apparently already done.” Ravs’ joke doesn’t earn a laugh. A frigid pause meets him instead as Daltos takes a moment to decide how to react.

“Oh look, here’s somebody else who thinks that it’ll be like old times if they keep pretending everything’s okay!” The sarcasm Lalna could have wrung out of Daltos’ tone would have been enough to fill several corrosive grenades. In a flash, Daltos’ tone switches to withering derision. “Or are you blind on top of being stupid?”

“Stupid enough to notice that it’s not a big coincidence that you turned out to be living with Zylus this whole time without one of you ending up dead already.” Lalna has to marvel at how much of an understatement that is. Or how calmly Ravs delivers his observation. Zylus had better removed all throwable objects from the room.

The polarising tension between Ravs and Daltos press against each other, wills clashing where words failed to serve their purposes. If Lalna had been in the room, he’d have been pressed to the floor by now from all the gathered tension.

When Daltos speaks again, Lalna has the distinct impression that he hasn’t lost, he’s just merely put the battle on hold. He’s found something he’d like to say and will wield it until a better weapon (aside from cutting silences) presented itself. It feels like that this method of arguing isn’t all that new to Ravs and Daltos.

“So, is that why you’re really here? You fancy playing relationship counselor? Did you get sick of helping people puke their guts out?” There might have been a condescending look on his face to match. It’d fit him, just as much as a playful grin suits Ravs.

“Whatever happened between you two can’t possibly be that bad-” An obvious attempt at diplomacy by Ravs is rejected with such abrupt force that Lalna wouldn’t be surprised if Ravs can’t respond to it.

“Ravs? It is,” Daltos interrupts, having switched to calmness. Perhaps he knows that it’s futile to lose his temper with Ravs or try to intimidate him into leaving. ”Even Cant can tell that much, and you have to really spell it out to them.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The genuine sincerity in Ravs’ voice makes Lalna want to stop listening in and let them have their privacy, but he’s already in this deep, might as well go the full way. “I can talk to Zylus about having him let you go outside to smoke-”

“There’s nothing you can do that hasn’t already been done or said by either one of us, so drop it.”

“I take that back. You’re not doing so well. Look, just let me help-” Ravs sounds affronted at the stubbornness, like he’s used to meeting it head-on.

“Drop it. Please.” There’s the briefest of pauses where it feels like Ravs is at last, stuck for how to respond. Daltos also bitterly notes with some resignation, “Either way, with or without your help, I’m fucked.”

Whatever tension left in the room crawls back into its hiding hole, clearly used to the two’s brusque method of ending conversation. It’s throwing Lalna for a loop, all the skirting around a literal minefield of issues. What Lalna’s stuck on is that neither of them had sounded likely to lose their tempers in the midst of how easily any of those issues could blow up.

Ravs’ boots scuff against the floor as he moves, more purposefully this time. “My offer. Do you remember it?” The bed creaks; Lalna guesses that Ravs has moved to sit on it. It creaks again as Ravs leans in, based on a second’s glimpse Lalna dares to steal of the room.

Indeed, Ravs is sitting on the edge of the bed, his body fully turned towards Daltos. His broad back is to the door, hiding whatever expression Daltos is making at him. It hides Lalna from view as well, provided Daltos doesn’t glance too closely past Ravs’ shoulder.

“Which one?” Daltos might have been smirking as he says that. It’s hard to tell what he’s trying to achieve with that remark, whether it’s pissing off Ravs or is making fun of him.

“Cheeky.” Ravs seems like he’s also used to this side of Daltos. Lalna is not. The way Ravs is rolling with it doesn’t sit well with him. If it’d been up to Lalna, he’d have left the room the second Daltos began to mouth off. The loud sound of a book snapping shut acts as its own pause. “Hey, that almost got me!” A creak indicates that he’s leaned away in mock indignation.

“Too bad, I was aiming for it.” Another creak implies that Daltos is moving away from Ravs. Or is shifting on the bed to make further room for him.

“We can just talk, if you want,” Ravs softly says.

“About what?” Daltos promptly evades, perhaps returning to the closed book in his hands.

“Well, is everything okay?”

“No.” It’s blunt, like Daltos knows that there’s no point to hiding that much from Ravs.

“That’s a start.” The optimism in Ravs’ tone contrasts with Daltos’ neutral one. “So let’s go to step two, where you tell me what’s really going on.”

“Ravs, I’m still not telling you shit what’s happening, no matter how many times you ask.”

“What if I asked nicely?”

“Still a no.”

“Well, obviously, you don’t have to, but I’d appreciate a summary of sorts. That’s up to you, of course.” Ravs easily responds. Probably sensing that Daltos isn’t likely to change his mind, he moves on. “So, what are you reading? Something dirty?”

To Lalna’s continuing amazement, the change in topic is permitted. Whatever had been in the room’s air imperceptibly shifts, becoming lighter to float off through the ceiling. It’s not going to trouble the two again so soon.

“The book belongs to Zylus.” There’s a businesslike ruffle of pages. It stops once Daltos reaches the page he’d been on before he’d tried to snap the book shut on Ravs’ nose (or inquisitive fingers). “I doubt he’d be able to read a dirty book without blushing the whole way through the first page.”

Lalna doesn’t notice a presence standing behind him. “Time to go,” Zylus murmurs, his voice coming from over Lalna’s shoulder. 

Lalna reacts by almost leaving his heart floating in the hallway as his body tries to separate itself from the vital organ. As it is, the result is that Lalna shrinks against the wall like he can pass through it if he thinks hard enough. If it weren’t for his legs supporting him, he’d be on the floor by now.

“Zylus!” Lalna hisses, hating and regretting that he’d been too absorbed in eavesdropping to notice Zylus sneaking up on him.

“Sorry,” Zylus whispers. It takes a moment for Lalna to realise that Zylus is doing him a massive favor by not announcing his or Lalna’s presence by raising his voice.

“Were you eavesdropping too?” Lalna adds a conspiratory raise of eyebrows, doing his best to mimic Rythian’s. He doesn’t have the capacity to maintain any coolness, grinning instead to try to downplay his actions.

Zylus avoids answering the question by looking straight at him. “Larry Robert’s waiting outside for you.”

“You’re done upgrading Larry Robert?” Lalna is reluctant to leave despite having a feeling that there’s nothing more to be overheard. Ravs and Daltos are now conversing in voices far too soft to pick up on. 

Lalna dares to sneak a actual peek of the room by craning his head towards the gap in the door. Surprisingly, he doesn’t mind that Zylus caught him by the door. Nor does he think Zylus will dob him in.

Daltos is sitting up in bed, none of his earlier agitation present. Tolerant, if Lalna had to put a word to his expression. Clean bandages cover the majority of his chest. The discoloured bruises on his cheek have faded in size and hue, lightening to a blackish red rather than the deep, disfiguring purple. Relaxing against the headboard, Daltos shows Ravs a page, causing Ravs to raise an eyebrow at whatever is on said page.

Lalna surmises that Daltos is being kept entirely in check by Zylus. How Zylus can keep him confined in T-Bone Junction once he’s recovered is something that terrifies Lalna. On the day that Zylus fails, there is no doubt that Daltos will kill Zylus before turning his attention to hunting down the Vault Hunters responsible for ruining his goddamned life.

Something inside Lalna reminds him that Zylus is entirely capable of playing the jailor, while another can’t help but doubt that vote of confidence. That is, in spite of the mountain of evidence that points out that if Zylus can hold a town all by himself in the middle of bandit country, then he can handle a single Bandit Lord.

Ravs has settled next to Daltos on the bed, keeping a fair distance away from the aforementioned book. He seems pleased to be allowed to remain despite Daltos rudely telling him to ‘get out’ earlier. Entirely at ease, Ravs is lounging back with an elbow propped up on a pillow, his rapt gaze focused on Daltos’ face.

It hits Lalna like a light slap to the face. Ravs is 100%  _ comfortable  _ where he currently is. Where other people shied away from danger, Ravs grinned, went and willingly sat next to it to make conversation.

The look on Daltos’ face is one where he’s still wrapping his head around the fact that Ravs is going to go and make himself at home no matter what he tries to make him leave. There is reluctant acceptance in the way he turns to talk to him.

Either Zylus had lied about Daltos being asleep or he’s just woken up. There’s doubt of either of those fitting the situation, given that Daltos had been engrossed in the book to the point of ignoring whoever approached the room. He’d probably assumed it was Zylus checking up on him.

Still, he hadn’t been aware of Ravs arriving to watch him. Nor had he reacted with any tremendous amount of joy or hostility for Ravs’ purpose in T-Bone Junction. So the two are on speaking terms. It’s not necessarily polite or strained but civil enough to respect each other. It’s pretty clear that those basic courtesies Daltos has drawn for Ravs don’t extend to Zylus, judging by the expression on Zylus’ face.

It might have been envy. It might have been hate. Whatever it is, it flashes in less than a second over Zylus’ features, far too quickly for Lalna to make any proper sense of it. Without another word, Zylus turns away from the room and briskly strides down the hallway towards the front door. Lalna follows him, throwing one last curious glance over his shoulder.

What Zylus hadn’t been wrong about is that he’d chosen well in having Ravs make sure Daltos isn’t up to anything. Lalna smoothers a burst of relieved giggles. What if Zylus had picked Teep or someone like Zoeya in Ravs’ place? They might as well come back to a smoking crater in the middle of the desert. Lalna loses that particular thought upon spotting his favourite Loader.

“Larry Robert!” Outside, Larry Robert is standing besides the Loader that’d gone into sleep mode. Outwardly, nothing’s changed.

As reticent as ever, Larry Robert’s blue eye whirs as it takes in Lalna. It’s with caution that Lalna requests a full systems diagnostic, hoping that the system won’t crash once it hits the critical mass of missing files where Larry Robert’s operating personality are supposed to reside.

With whatever Zylus had done, Larry Robert reports via text that it’ll take an unspecified amount of time to complete. That’s fine by Lalna, he’s got a ship to catch. Ten metres away, Zylus’ back is retreating down a set of creaking stairs hidden between two buildings. Larry Robert’s despawned with a dismissive wave of a hand until the next time it’s needed.

Lalna’s obedient feet take him to a level descending beneath T-Bone Junction. A metal bridge sways lightly where it’s suspended by chains attached to the town’s underside. Zylus is already on the other side, entering a building.

The building’s styled after an airfield garage, a single sheet of corrugated grey metal forming the main door. Rollers line the underside of the door. Tinted, sand-scratched windows (probably stolen from ruined, corporate buildings) hide whatever Zylus is keeping in the garage.

Ignoring the compulsion to look down, Lalna races across the bridge towards the door where Zylus slipped in. The bridge bounces, the metal jangling underneath his thumping boots. He reaches the door without the bridge dropping away beneath him, feeling for the door handle and gripping it like his whole life depends on it, and how fast he can get the door open. Succeeding, he scrambles inside, trying not to whimper at the view below him. The door’s practically slammed from the force of his own haste to close it. The sound echoes throughout the garage, fading as it’s forgotten in favor of Lalna staring at what’s in the middle of the room.

The garage consists of an enormous rig centered around a Dahl combat fighter. In the middling fluorescent lighting, it’s hard to properly tell its color. It’d once colored a military green at some point. The exterior’s been through atmosphere reentry too many times to stay a proper shade of green. Lalna’s been to enough planets to recognize a ship of Dahl make or at least, the skeleton of one. This one’s been reconfigured to function as a shuttle (or if Zylus could read his thoughts, he’d have corrected the word to ‘spaceship’).

Zylus is unhooking the thick fuel cable, stowing it on its curved hook. Seeing that he’s at ease with handling the pre-take off process without help, Lalna opts to have a cursory look around the building. It is any surprise that Zylus keeps the place in order? No, not really. Tools and machines fill at least five workbenches. Spare parts are stacked up against the back walls, some of them evidently broken or tampered with.

Lalna recognises the careful handiwork of a determined scavenger seeking to salvage a worthy component from a lesser machine. This place could have doubled as a junk shop for spare parts to do with ships. Whatever hadn’t fit into the garage, Zylus made do with shoving them into storage units. At least sixteen of those line the wall behind a padlocked gate. All are nearing capacity, based on the indicating lights on the drawers.

“Zylus?” Lalna calls out. His awed voice bounces around the room, making its way over junk, the ship, machines and tools.

“Yes?” Zylus pauses his inspection of the landing gear to look at Lalna. In the semi-darkness, his artificial eye glows a soft, pleasing blue through the curved glass of his tarnished monocle.

“Where did you get all these parts?” Lalna resists a bout of stickybeaking by hastily stuffing his hands into his pockets. It’s safer to keep his hands to himself, he’s learned. Even if Zylus would have gladly handed over bunk parts upon request, Lalna wouldn’t know what to do with them aside from break them down down into base components.

“Scavenging, mostly,” Zylus absently answers, ducking underneath a metal beam supporting the platform.

“How long have you been doing this?” ‘This’ being secretly running an airfield concealed underneath a town.

“Long enough to know what I’m doing,” Zylus reassures, clearly having been asked that question one too many times by anxious parties. “I’d normally make you wait outside while I do this but I’m running late.”

Lalna jumps to the conclusion that it’s his fault that Zylus is running behind schedule. “Is it because of Larry Robert’s upgrade? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you up-”

“What? No!” Zylus nearly hits his head on the ship’s underside when rising. “That’s my own fault, I should have paid attention to the time,” He quickly says. It doesn’t escape Lalna that Zylus is deliberately leaving out the part where they’d both been eavesdropping on a certain conversation.

The landing gear deemed satisfactory, Zylus wriggles back through gap between the bottom of the ship and the walkway. Hopping back up onto the platform, he unlocks the hatch in the back of the ship. “All aboard! We’ll be departing in five minutes,” He brightly invites.

“Does this ship have a name?” Lalna climbs up and into the back of the ship, keen to see what’s inside.

Bolted rows of waiting room chairs take up the majority of the space inside. The inside smells of recycled air. Anyone who’s been offworld learned to ignore it. Running down the middle of the ship is a single lane allowing Zylus to walk unimpeded all the way to the cockpit. The ship’s interior’s been customised to let someone as tall as Rythian stand up without concussing himself on the ceiling. It doesn’t do Lalna much good, given that he’s kind of embarrassingly short.

“Greenman,” Zylus says with a fond smile in his voice, closing the hatch with a solid thunk. “Don’t ask.”

Puzzled by the choice of name, Lalna picks a seat closest to the cockpit to let Zylus squeeze by. He can’t actually see much of the cockpit. The lone, comfortable-looking chair inside conceals the majority of the front view that isn’t taken up by consoles and equipment. Zylus takes the seat, expertly flipping switches and tugs on a pair of headphones (the leather on the pads cracked and peeling) plugged into the console.

“This is your pilot, Zylus, speaking. Today, takeoff is expected to be without any dangerous turbulence but just in case, please buckle yourself in. If you require assistance, please let me know right now. I am not responsible if you fail to do so and slam your head into the fucking ceiling and suffer irreversible brain trauma. This has been your one and only pre-flight safety message.” He switches off the speaker, allowing a solid minute of silence to make itself at home.

Lalna’s searching hands digs up the blunt ends of a seatbelt stolen from a technical. Buckling himself in, he settles down to wait. He’s got a great window view, thanks to his choice of seat. For now, it’s of the packed workbenches. He can’t remember if he’s sitting on the port side or whatever the other side is called. He’s excited and nervous about this, practically wriggling about in his seat from growing impatience.

“Zylus?” He calls out, even if he’s loathe to disturb him. From what he recalls, the door ahead leads to the underside of T-Bone Junction. There’s no way that the ship can take off in such a cramped space even if it uses the short plunge over the edge of the platform to its advantage. Ships like this could take off from a standing start, or require a runway. Neither of those involve heights, last Lalna checked.

“Yes?” Zylus doesn’t turn around as the ship gives a shudder, waking up with a thrumming that delivered shakes all the way up to Lalna’s knees. The ship begins to roll forwards at the leisurely speed of ‘could have been outrun by a trotting spiderant’. Zylus’ hands are wrapped around two joysticks, holding them in position.

“How are we taking off?” Lalna decides there’s no time like the present to ask. If it comes across as a stupid question, he’ll claim that it’s only fair to know because how else can they get off Pandora?

“You’ll soon see.” Is that a hideous grin in Zylus’ voice or is Lalna mistaken? He’s never heard Zylus sound this entertained before, aside from the one time he’d cracked up at his own joke about making the Vault Hunters almost cross an invisible line.

Loaders have made their way onto the platform in front of the door. Arms mechanically rise to tug the enormous door open. Another emits flames from its feet as it lugs the hatch leading to T-Bone Junction down. A panel of road’s descended to greet the rising ship’s pointed nose. Sunlight, so much of it, a river of pale-yellow, pours into the ship as it ‘hits’ the road.

His mind drowning from the brightness of it, Lalna is forced to squint until his vision adjusts, aware that the ship is still horizontal for now. It’s moving, being carried up into the sunlight. The ship emerges onto one of the few roads leading in and out of T-Bone Junction. 

On the tarmac beneath the ship, a ruler-straight line of polished metal fused together into the runway track exists where none had before. The white, double dotted line of the road is buried beneath it.

“Oh!” Lalna exclaims at the incredible sight set out before the two of them.

Ahead of the ship, the ‘runway’ is in the midst of being rapidly assembled by orderly rows of workerbots. Never before has he seen so many assembled in one place; the mining rig doesn’t have shit on this congregation. 

Their beams are frantically pulling concrete apart and replacing it with a framework, pieces materialising out of thin air to be slotted into place and bolted down. Moving as one, they could have been mistaken for a flock of rakks moving in synchronisation from afar, led by an invisible conductor (or maybe air controller).

“Stand by,” Zylus calmly states. To Lalna, it’s to nobody in particular; perhaps Zylus needed to reassure himself of what he needs to do. “Takeoff is now initiating, so please brace yourselves.” 

The ship begins to slide forward on whatever mechanism that’d carried it up into the heart of T-Bone Junction. As the ship begins to gather speed, alarm floods Lalna, much like the deluge of sunlight. Except it’s more potent, helped along by the warning spike of adrenaline preceding wanting to throw up.

“Zylus, the runway isn’t complete-” Lalna can’t finish his sentence because Zylus yanks a lever on the console down, initiating the boost. The resulting rush of noise all but flattens Lalna.

Thrown back against the seat, he can only paw around to get a death grip on the fabric and seat fitting as the ship shoots forward, propelled by the struggling engine. 

How such a compact engine produces such an incredible amount of noise and force, Lalna doesn’t know but he is only sure of the fact that he is going to fucking  _ die _ . Right here, right  _ now _ , because the ship is being piloted by a fucking madman who refuses to wait for the runway to finish being built.

He knows he’s screaming, the scream filled with all of his terror. The straining engine devours his scream, perhaps for fuel. The more he’s terrified, the more he’s dead sure that the faster the ship is going. At the back of his mind, he knows that the ship is beginning to tilt backwards. This is one rollercoaster that he is not going to be leaving.

Black smothers his vision. There are dots, at first, followed by splotches. Someone is dripping ink into his eyes, not caring where the drops fell. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can spy the blur of rushing workerbots and the vanishing desert, the open sky rushing to meet them like an upside-down ocean about to engulf them in waves formed out of fluffy clouds.

The straggling workerbots valiantly attempting to keep up lose their drive. They fall away, far beyond the ship’s slipstream. That’s smart of them, so they wouldn’t get dragged in and be dashed to a million pieces. Those remaining pick up the pace, the last of the beams dismantling the highway and slotting pieces in at breakneck speed.

Locked into his seat by all the combined forces at work (and fear), Lalna is vaguely aware of the incoming sight beyond the ship’s front. The end of the runway shortens to hundred metres, fifty, thirty, ten, two and lo, the ship is in the air with only the gentlest of shudders to show for it like it’s nothing more exciting than a routine docking procedure.

Lalna loses his voice mid-launch. His throat’s been scratched raw from all the screaming. Plus, he’s passed out as the pressing forces take their immense toll on his poor body and consciousness. Relieved at being generously spared further the indignity of screaming the whole up way, he faints. Zylus’ maniacal laughter carries him out of reality.

No takeoff’s ever been this rough in Lalna’s entire life. Ravs would have had something hilarious to say about that. Probably, if he’d been around to hear it.

Over in the pilot’s seat, Zylus’ exhilarated laughter tapers off. Now  _ this _ is what he lives for. Like he hadn’t been laughing his head off the whole time because he’ll never tired of battling air resistance, gravity, friction and all those things determined to keep him on the ground, he sighs. It’d done its part to keep his mind off other pressing matters that wanted to distract him. For as long as it took for the ship to leave the airfield and flying, that is.

Technical maintenance, BebopVox’s calm concerns that a Loader might be malfunctioning due to a run-in with a Drifter during the last parts retrieval, the leaking water tower, as with all the mundane jobs in T-Bone Junction are piling up. Combine those with all the extra goods that Concordia’s requested. Annoyingly, several of the goods requested demanded that Zylus travel to hit up whatever towns that populated his usual supply route.

At the time, he hadn’t wanted to rely on underhanded tactics to leave town without Daltos’ knowledge. BebopVox didn’t understand his moral dilemma. To be more precise, BebopVox had supported the idea, all their data pointing out that it had the highest chance of success with the fewest complications.

Zylus gets that sometimes one has to play dirty or level (more like demolish) the playing field in one’s favor to succeed. In the past, BebopVox had employed lethal force to get people (including the unarmed) to stand down. That’d been a dreadfully long time ago, back when they’d both served in the military. 

Although, Zylus supposes that BebopVox didn’t really serve, more like obeyed whatever order had been given, with no choice in the matter. Would BebopVox go back to the military if offered the chance? He’ll have to ask BebopVox once he gets back. It’s likely that BebopVox will have tempered the possibility at least once during all their idle periods.

Well, querying Lalnable for the sleeping pills had been far too easy. Of course, Lalnable hadn’t suspected what Zylus intended to do with them. Lalnable merely supplied them without asking the exact reason.

“Only for when the pain gets too much for him to sleep,” had been the simple instructions he’d left Zylus.

True, Daltos slept in fits when the painkillers waned, sharpening the edge of pain rather than blunt it. Rather than forgo his pride (and only twice, perhaps three times, had he ever done so), he grits his teeth and bears the pain without making a single sound.

Something in Zylus relishes the pain he’s in because it’ll never make up for what he did. The other part of Zylus offers help, unable to stand watching and doing nothing in the face of such suffering (in spite of whether or not it’s deserved).

“ _ No _ .” The ground out answer had stunned Zylus. Had Daltos been in any condition to argue back, Zylus would have started it by calling him an idiot for refusing the painkillers when he clearly needed them. It’s not worth his pride, surely? Apparently it fucking is. Daltos followed up with, “Rakk ale.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“Do. You. Have. Any. Rakk. Ale?” Every word is punctuated by a suppressed sound of pain, almost hidden by the grating impatience of Daltos’ tone.

“No.” A lie. Zylus always keeps some around (for when the days or nights grew too long for his liking). In the kitchen, at the very back of the cupboard furthest from the hallway. Later, it’ll lead to a series of terrible decisions. For now, the bottles have to remain untouched. “You’re not getting drunk while in pain.” He doesn’t feel that bad about denying Daltos another way of relieving the pain.

Daltos had no reply prepared, closing his eyes and taking a series of slow, incomplete, stuttering breaths. Zylus had needed to lean in close to hear what he said. “Fine, you going to make me take the painkillers?” Despite his current state, Daltos had still thrown down a challenge.

“No.” Five seconds later, Zylus pressed a painkiller into his hand. He’d left the room under the guise of getting a bottle of water, ignoring the already opened one beside the bed.

When he came back, Daltos is fortunately, still in the bed. On his side, face set into a mild frown. Asleep, with no indication of pain keeping him awake. The bottle of water was not where it’d been. Zylus fell into the habit of leaving the painkillers out on the table shortly thereafter, never being present to see them being taken.

Getting Daltos to take the sleeping pills had been a different matter.

To date, Zylus prepared every meal, taking care to leave them with the painkillers and water bottles. He can’t predict when Daltos is up to eating, relying on the pattern of the state of the morning plates when he came in to check on him. 

Waiting, for a certain day, putting off the visit to Concordia, with profuse apologies to Lalna and the folks on Elpis. Nobody minded (save for Pyrionflax grumbling a little about the delay). Zylus used the excuse of acquiring more fuel for the spaceship. Everybody understood that fuel’s a hard commodity to get on Pandora.

All his patience eventually paid off. The day came when Daltos ate all of the breakfast left out. Not half of it, leaving the other for later. The whole plate, cleaned of any food. He’d also been well enough to get out of the bed, walk all the way to the kitchen to take the plate from Zylus and back, without any reaction. Watching him do so had been an enormous relief but also alarming. 

It’d only been a simple matter for Zylus to take one sleeping pill (reduced to a fine powder) and slip it in, in one of the later meals.

Daltos never realised. It took twenty minutes to kick in. For once, Zylus ate in the room with him. Waiting on tenterhooks, he braced for the gradual realisation, too ill at ease to finish his own plate, watching Daltos work his way through the meal. So watching him eat is fine, watching him take the painkillers isn’t. Probably by whatever logic he had, the move constituted as letting Zylus know that he’s only human (and thus, killable). He forgot bandits operated on a different, idiotic level regarding pain and all display thereof.

A yawn was the dead giveaway. No struggle resulted to stay awake. It told Zylus that the pain had worn Daltos down, for him to forget about habitually pulling his meals apart, or maybe that living with someone who didn’t try to off him on a daily basis caused an eventual lapse in vigilance.

All it took was a guiding hand on Daltos’ bare shoulder to get him to lie down. Daltos’ eyes have already slipped shut when Zylus drops the blanket over him, without a murmured apology. Nothing cliche as that.

When he took his hand away, he had to resist running his fingers through Daltos’ hair, to touch the closely cropped strands about to grey (he regrets the missed opportunity; maybe that moment was precisely when it’d began, wanting to hate him even more for destroying what they’d had, and willingly).

He wasn’t that pleased or proud to have succeeded. Maybe he’d been expecting Daltos to try to fight it, and him. Not wasting time (because the pill lasted only as long as Daltos felt like sleeping), Zylus immediately departed the town in a technical. 

During the whole trip, his conscience fought itself over the righteousness of the deed. Regardless (and it’d never been about how right or wrong the move was), it stopped mattering because all it basically boiled down to is doing what he can to stay alive, including using foul play.

These days, he knows that if he tried that trick again, Daltos  _ will  _ catch on and that’ll be the end of their invisible, still fragile truce.

Zylus pushes all those thoughts save for the remaining one aside. The idea of Ravs indulging Daltos’ destructive whims had proved troubling, when considering who to pick. As it is, Ravs had seemed genuinely earnest about keeping his word. Even if doing so meant betraying one friend over the other, including the little known fact of having known Daltos for almost as long as Zylus.

Well, so long as Ravs doesn’t assist Daltos in combing the town for the A.I. core containing BebopVox, they could wreck the bedroom or tear up the living room during a fight for all that Zylus cared. Daltos wouldn’t also be so foolish to involve Ravs in his futile search, not if he wants to be smart about keeping the conflict limited to him and Zylus.

That’s what Zylus is counting on: it’s just him and Daltos pitched against each other for however long it takes until one of them died or gave in. Nobody else needs to involve themselves. The part that really bothers Zylus is that Daltos  _ understands _ , mirroring Zylus’ desire to maintain the silent tug of war happening right beneath everyone’s noses. 

BebopVox is the coveted prize. So far, Zylus has the immense advantage of having the prize already in his possession, including all knowledge of its location and all the measures protecting it.

Well, Daltos could never resist a challenge if he’s given one. Zylus will deliver, even if it means keeping him close by and not any closer to leaving T-Bone Junction with BebopVox.

That’s enough brooding. Brooding makes him want to crack open a bottle of rakk ale because that’s the only way to get any fucking peace in his own head these days. He also has a job to do, no matter how much he’s been delaying it.

Zylus quietly announces to his unconscious passenger, “We are now leaving Pandora’s atmosphere. Please remain calm, and do not unbuckle yourself yet.”

He turns his head, spotting his reflection. A weary face stares back at him. It’s the look he frequently sees whenever he’s in front of the bathroom mirror. There’ll be plenty of time later to beat himself up. The last thing he needs to awkward questions from Concordia’s townsfolk about his appearance or why he looks so ragged and exhausted in spite of sounding well.

Altogether, this time had definitely qualified as one of the smoothest takeoffs he’s ever done. Taking a moment to be pleased, he glances behind him to grin at Lalna, and promptly spots Lalna sprawled out in the seat. Lalna is as pale as leftover bones left to bleach in the desert from the sun’s unforgiving rays.

Not the first passenger he’s had to faint on the way up into space. Zylus steers the spaceship towards Elpis, taking his usual course. Pyrionflax knows that he’s coming and prepped the defence cannons to cover him, for if Hyperion feels obliged to try killing him today. He’s the tiniest bit disappointed when nothing appears on the long-range radar. Well, he can show off his dodging skills another day, if Lalna hasn’t developed a fear of takeoff.

Speaking of which, Lalna emits a pained groan, waking in his chair. It feels like he’s suffered a hangover, one hand supporting his eventual rise from the phantom depths of his unconsciousness. “How long have I been out?”

“Sick bag’s in front of you,” Zylus promptly informs him.

“Don’t need it. I think.” Lalna glances around the ship and out the window. He spends a few worthwhile seconds matching up his memories with the present. “Hey, we’re in space!”

“You weren’t passed out for very long.” It’s the truth. There’s no reason to lie. Lalna appears to take his word for it, his head swivelling to take in the brand new view from the window besides him. He presses his face to the window, all his fingers eagerly wiping away the dust collected there.

Coming down on the escape pod hadn’t given him much time to admire the view. He’d been too busy trying not to die, whether from snapped nerves, the gigantic shock of his employer pulling their biggest prank yet, or the imminent collision with whatever the escape pod would hit upon landing.

The mining rig didn’t offer much of a chance to let him gawk at what it’d be boring into. He’d put his head down and worked, ignoring everything else but his own needs to pour his whole energy into his current commission. The sooner he completed the commission, the sooner he could leave.

Behold, the current bane of Lalna’s existence: Pandora. From up here, the muddy brown shithole seems so quiet. Alone. Isolated. Lonely. It’s like him. Homesickness rises out of the depths inside Lalna, pinching his stomach from below. The yearning of familiar comforts pour into his mind from his heart. Up here, without any danger of being judged, he can let himself do that. Or so he tells himself.

He craves to be somewhere safe. He wants food that didn’t come from a foil packet, tin can or is pre-wrapped. A comfy brand new bed, the sheets not previously tainted by somebody else. An occupation that didn’t wholly depend on his ability to shoot back at other people or things that tried to rip his face off. No more killing. For Lalnable to not despise him. A gunless Larry Robert to fulfill whatever job Lalna asked of it.

Lalna doesn't like envisioning what he might have to do to get even just half, let alone a quarter, of those things. 

Perhaps he can stay behind on the mining rig, giving up the Vault Hunting for good to finish it. There’s a Fast Travel Station present on the mining rig. All the way back in Tundra Express, he’d discovered that the accesses had been changed. Exactly when, he can’t pin down. It must have been after he’d left the rig. His employer had likely done it to prevent him returning so easily, no doubt intending him to take the long way back to avoid the well-deserved punch they’re getting to the face- okay, no, he’s becoming one of  _ them.  _

Where he’d once forgo violence towards his employer, it horrifies him that punching someone is now an automatic impulse. 

He’d even gone ahead and modified his arm to ramp up the damage, forgetting that normal people didn’t just do that because they wanted to. Nor would they be capable of being this creative with a thruster, screws, bolts, nuts, wires and a bunch of welded, appropriately curved plates. It’s not a sobering realisation that he enjoys having. Neither is wanting to tear his arm off and begin from scratch. That’s not sensible, with where he currently is. Later, once he has time to himself. He’ll make a safer, less violent prosthetic.

“Do you see this every single time you leave?” Lalna dares to ask Zylus, seeking refuge from his mounting thoughts in conversation. He doesn’t have it in him to stay that calm, painfully reminded of all the things he’s missing.

Remaining silent, Zylus doesn’t turn around. All around the two of them, the ship’s interior vibrates as the engines quieten to a dull humming. It invades their bones, vibrating along their frames. Even the air itself inside the ship joins in.

“Yes,” Zylus murmurs, after a century of suspenseful silence.

Lalna’s palm (the one made out of flesh, blood and bone, not the unfeeling one) presses against the cold glass. He turns his head towards the front of the ship. The sight almost makes him jump.

Zylus has fully turned around in the chair, leaving the ship on autopilot. Though Lalna’s never been one to use such a term his parents said in place of accidentally offending whatever deities might overhear,  _ Sirens,  _ Zylus is the first person to truly understand what he’s going through. The homesickness etched on Zylus’ handsome face puts his own to shame.

There are people on Pandora who have lived on this planet longer than Lalna has (or ever will). How self-centered does he have to be to think that he’s the only one who wants to go home?

The rest of the trip is spent without another word being said, with Zylus focusing on guiding the spaceship to its destination. Lalna peers forlornly out the window, lacking other in-flight entertainment if Zylus isn’t inclined to chat to him. The glimmer of stars almost successfully distract him from thinking about home. He puts his head down to nap, hoping that he’ll be spared the usual nightmare for being so homesick.

\--

A hand shakes Lalna awake, with an insisting gentleness that’s less jarring compared to the harsh, buzzing tones of an alarm clock determined to do its job. He appreciates the tender transition out of sleep, smacking his lips as he sits up. He should probably stop slouching one of these days, that’s not good for his back (and neither is crouching behind crates while being shot at). Zylus draws away, satisfied that he’s woken Lalna up.

“You snore,” Zylus says, grinning from ear to ear as he retakes his seat. The chair rotates, allowing him to face the cockpit. At a glance, he seems to have shaken off his homesick expression, seeming back to normal.

No longer groggy, Lalna forgets about wanting five more minutes of sleepytime. “I do not!” He fires back, indignant about having his snoring pointed out. He doesn’t think he snores that horribly; Larry Robert or the others hadn’t complained about it. Unless it’s just Zylus making fun of him.

“Not loudly!” Zylus says, fiddling with the ship’s controls. The ship begins to tilt downwards. It’s then that Lalna’s fragile attention span expands to take in the incoming grey sphere that they’re headed straight towards. “You still snore, though.”

“Everybody snores,” Lalna defensively retorts, glaring at the back of Zylus’ head. If he concentrates hard enough, maybe he can give him a headache.

“Not me,” Zylus says with an annoying amount of confidence that Lalna feels is rare.

Down on Pandora, Elpis didn’t seem much to look at. It’s largely an omnipresent background presence in the sky. This close to the ship, Elpis  _ looms,  _ its intimidating presence made clear by the enormous cracks spilling red everywhere (that Lalna is confident in declaring to be lava, because the alternative is blood and he’s positive that planets can’t bleed, unlike people). A boring grey like the skin of Sanctuary Hole’s gun shop proprietor paints the remaining landscape. It’s nothing at all like in the scant ECHOnet videos he’d checked out before heading to T-Bone Junction.

The whole moon is as pitted as a dimpled sports ball, thanks to the expanse of craters and mountains spread out along its surface. Rare, nearly disguised spots of glacial blue, inform Lalna that not only is Elpis hot, it’s also cold. That makes sense, given that space is cold. But wouldn’t the lava heat Elpis up? He’s no authority on planets so he puts aside that thought to listen to Zylus’ next announcement.

“Please fasten your belts, we’re now beginning landing procedures. This has been your pilot, Zylus, and I hope you’ve had a pleasant flight.” Zylus’ soothingly calm tone informs Lalna.

Taking the cue, Lalna obediently tugs at the seatbelt strapping him in. Good, still buckled in. He won’t go floating off anytime soon. The ship begins to dip until Lalna can no longer see space all around them, it’s just Elpis’ mottled grey face approaching at a speed that makes him want to cover his eyes and expect to crash into the landscape (and it’s déjà vu all over again). 

Because of that, he misses Zylus ECHOing ahead, his mind too caught up in whether or not he’ll survive. Probably, as a flesh-colored pancake that can be rolled up like a throw rug that’s ready to be deemed ‘definitely dead’ by experts.

Proving that he is indeed qualified to pilot as he’d said, Zylus expertly brings the ship down onto Elpis’ surface. From between his splayed fingers clutching his face, Lalna can make out a yellow-lit runway leading to the bottom of a vast cliff. Claw-like attachments rise up to latch onto the ship’s extended landing gear. Defensive cannons line the perimeter. None of them acknowledge the lone ship arriving, the ship passing through a transparent, blue-white wall.

A series of rocky bumps announces the landing gear touching down. Numerous clicks and clunks inform the two that the ship’s being Iocked into place. It’s towed forwards at walking pace. Zylus doesn’t seem to be that impressed, having slid his headphones off to rummage in the partially open storage compartment by his knee.

For becoming distracted by the window again, Lalna nearly gets hit in the head by an object that’s tossed at him over Zylus’ shoulder. It bounces off the seat and lands in his lap.

“What’s this?” He inspects the plasticy, triangular item, lifting it up to his face. It smells like it’d been left marinating in disinfectant for a few days, making him wrinkle his nose in distaste. The ship’s stilled, the engines having shut off to leave a tentative silence in its wake.

“It’s an oxygen kit. They call them ‘Oz kits’ up here.” Zylus leaves his perched on his shoulder as he turns off the ship’s engines. The Oz kit stays there, thanks to some mysterious mechanism at work keeping it attached to his jacket. “It’ll help you breathe if you go outside the dome.”

“Thanks!” Not wanting to suffocate, Lalna copies him, having to nudge his into position. The Oz kit is a dark green color, almost like the ship’s original hue. Well-used too, if all the dents and scratch marks on it are anything to go by. He’s surprised that it weighs next to nothing. It’s like a blocky bird perching on his shoulder. He almost names it on the spot.

“You’re welcome.” Zylus sidles past him to the back of the ship. Lalna spots him piling taped box after box from a tied down storage unit into his inventory, counting about thirty in total. A canvas bag (with the string tightly pulled shut) sporting an outline of a letter follows the lot.

How Zylus is making it all fit into his pockets, let alone his digistruct modules is boggling. Lalna’s head hurts to think of all the possible tricks. It probably involves secret manufacturer codes, pliers, a paperclip and a small magnet.

“Where are we going now?” Lalna asks as he stands up. Sitting down for that long’s made his legs ache, especially his knees. Stretching them out reduces the incoming cramp. The cramp skulks off, foiled by the minimal stretching.

“Concordia, Elpis’ only settlement,” Zylus explains, finally leading Lalna out of the ship. Lalna almost trips out of the hatch; he hadn’t expected the gravity to be that lax. A helping hand on the shoulder missing the Oz kit steadies him. He brushes it off to go experiment with his newfound absence of less body weight.

“Look at how high I can jump!” Lalna laughs. He tries to jump higher than he usually does, windmilling his arms to avoid landing flat on his face.

Zylus ducks his head, smiling at the sight. “You can stay here and jump as much as you want, but I got to drop off these supplies at Concordia.”

“I want to see Concordia!” Lalna stops trying to turn incomplete cartwheels in the air and jogs over to Zylus.

“Alright.” Zylus calls the lift down, waiting with all the patience of a saint for Lalna to get the hang of jogging in slow motion over to him.

The lift slides down the cliff as though it’s on rails greased with sticky putty. The lift consists of a simple glass cube set in the rock, bracketed by metal fittings. It looks like the lifts back on the mining rig. Lalna’s a little disappointed; he’d expected something more futuristic. Lalna could also have sung about the entire contents of his toolkit in the time it takes for the tiny lift to make it back up to the top of the cliff.

Rather than sing and probably make Zylus’ ears bleed, he spends the time trying not to stare. Zylus stands up straight, hands hidden behind his back, clearly used to periods of waiting where nothing happened.

The last time he’d seen Zylus, Zylus had withdrawn into his house after bidding goodbye to the Vault Hunters. He hadn’t seemed all that thrilled about the Vault Hunters succeeding in the mission he’d given them. Most of his enthusiasm came from treating the Vault Hunters to a meal (even just preparing  _ tea _ ). That’s actually kind of depressing, now that Lalna thinks about it.

After that, Lalna hadn’t seen him in person until stepping into T-Bone Junction again. According to his slippery memory, Zylus had sounded harried on the ECHO when apologising about not able to take Lalna to the mining rig sooner.

It hadn't been a problem. Lalna tries not to make it obvious that he’s searching for the tiniest sign of distress in Zylus’ face, about keeping Daltos in check. It’s true that Zylus does seem preoccupied, staring out past the glass wall, his gaze resting on Pandora.

To tell Zylus about the conversation between Daltos and Ravs or not? He can’t have heard the whole thing, arriving at the tail end of it. Lalna stares at the glass wall, wanting an obvious sign of some sort to tell him what to do.

After a minute of grappling with indecision, Lalna decides to leave it. It’s not his usual style to fuck things up between people who seem to know what they’re doing in asking one another for favors. Besides, opening his mouth might make matters even worse. He already feels like he owes Zylus for asking him to mooch off his run to Elpis in taking him this far.

The lift halts, the doors parting (one of them a second later than the other). Zylus steps out into Concordia. Lalna follows his lead. They’ve ended up in a windowed hallway overlooking the empty stretch of runway. From here, Zylus’ parked ship is toy-sized, poised to take off again back down the runway from the other direction.

Across the hallway, a dark-skinned customs officer in a blue uniform eagerly waves with all the energy of someone who’s been waiting for a long time and they’re glad to have their patience paying off at last. Lalna turns his head slightly to see how Zylus reacts. Oddly, Zylus ducks his head, appearing to steel himself before walking over.

“Zylus!” The customs officer gushes. “It’s been ages! Do you have it?” They glance at Zylus’ uniform as though expecting him to have a bag of some sort in full view.

“Do I have it?” Zylus says, appearing to have no clue what the officer is talking about. “What could you possibly be talking about?”

Lalna almost facepalms, hurrying over to stop whatever daredevil rebellious act Zylus is pulling. “Zylus, give them the thing they want before they arrest you!” Lalna hisses at him. If it’s one thing he’s learned, don’t fuck with customs officers or any variation of people with official looking security badges.

“Naw, Bluari wouldn’t think of arresting me, not if they want their package,” Zylus says, grinning at Lalna’s panic like it’s no big deal.

“Course not!” Bluari huffs, pouting as their cheeks puff out. “Zylus is just being mean.”

“Fine, there’s no need to pout. Here you go.” Zylus digistructs two slim packages wrapped in sheets of brown paper held together with oodles of duct tape. One of them sports smudged black marks on the surface like it’d been stuck into a fire and tugged out again in the nick of time. The other is mark-free, stickered across one corner with ‘FRAGILE, PLEASE HANDLE WITH CARE’.

Bluari snatches both packages up, tearing the paper off the cleaner one. Bits of torn paper shower the floor. “It’s here! Look at all these sweet tunes I’m going to learn!” An overflowing book crammed full of sheet music is shoved into Zylus and Lalna’s faces. Miraculously, none of the loose sheets flutter free.

“What’s in the other one?” Zylus points at the remaining package, doing his best to not sound nosy.  It’s apparent that Bluari didn’t get much packages sent to them by how excited they’re acting.

“Uh.” Bluari drops their gaze to the floor, sounding apologetically embarrassed (if such a thing is possible). “I’m keeping in touch with a penpal,” They admit, a challenging spark appearing in their eyes daring Zylus to comment. With how dark Bluari’s skin is, it’s hard to tell if they’re embarrassed.

“Of course you are,” Zylus simply says, being awfully encouraging rather than taking advantage and poke fun at their enthusiasm for getting mail. “It’s nice to have friends to write to.”

“They’re on Pandora at the moment. I hope to write more to them, but only if  _ someone  _ dropped by Concordia more often so I can send my letters down.” Bluari pointedly looks at him.

Zylus laughs. “I’ll try, but you know, fuel isn’t that easy to nick or get.”

“I’ll tip you.” Bluari holds out a five dollar bill. It’s waved away.

“I’m not your personal mailman,” Zylus says with a sigh. He adds with a smile, “I’m leaving in an hour. If you want to send a letter down with me, better finish it before then.”

“Alright!” Bluari’s expression beams with such gratitude. It makes Lalna want to pinch their cheeks because there is no possible way that someone can simply be that grateful for having a letter taken down to Pandora on their behalf. The five dollar bill disappears, safely tucked into the folds of Bluari’s patch-ridden jacket.

Zylus and Bluari appear to remember that Lalna is present. Not that he minds, he’s enjoying watching the two interact. He’s waiting for the security officer to drop the carefree act and become a hardass.

“This is Lalna, by the way. He’s here with me because he’s got some other business on the way back.” Zylus indicates with a nod at Lalna standing by him.

“Hi,” Lalna automatically says, proud of himself for not sounding awkward. He belatedly hopes that he’s not going to be arrested on the spot. That’d be a major hassle (especially in terms of paperwork on both ends).

“Lalna, is it? I’d normally ask you to fill out some forms and go get sterilised, but since you’re with Zylus for only an hour, it should be fine,” Bluari says, looking Lalna up and down. Finding nothing wrong, Bluari nods. To Zylus, they add in a terrified whisper, “I hope Minty doesn’t tear you a new one for being this late.”

“I’m on time!” Zylus says, sounding offended that Bluari is implying that he’s late on purpose. Lalna almost points that he’d said that he’d be late, wisely choosing to keep quiet or he’ll lose his free ride back.

“I’d better get going before Minty catches me slacking off. You know how she is about security. I’ll see you around!” Continuing to beam, Bluari floats off down the hallway like they’ve just won a place on cloud nine, humming. Lalna spies a battered harmonica peeking out of one back pocket. He decides that it’s not his place to ask, managing to catch up with Zylus who’s headed off in the opposite direction.

Taking the stairs up lands the two of them on the top level of Concordia. Lalna tries not to stare at the people (Elpisans? Elpiskind?) that they pass. All of them are wearing layers of clothes that seem more suited to mountain skiing, all baggy from the insulation and yet, deemed suitably practical. They’re the sort of tacky clothes that Lalna thinks that would come from a machine as part of a handout for people too poor to afford a ration subscription.

A stoic Zylus certainly earns a couple of curious gazes as he passes by. A few wave to him. He merely nods, appearing mildly embarrassed by the attention. Several people hand him items and letters that he silently takes. One generous citizen gifts him a ration bar that he ends up mumbling ‘thank you’ to them.

It’s kind of cute, Lalna thinks, resisting the urge to tease him. He also resists the urge to inspect the weird, flashing green pad with arrows on it. The arrows point across a gap. Something about the way it’s angled upwards suggests that it’d be a horrible idea to step on it.

Where exactly is Zylus taking him? When he thinks that Zylus has no idea where he’s going, Zylus stops in front of a bar. Lalna cranes his head upwards to a neon, flashing sign. All the letters have been cobbled from other signs, lit by a jumbled style of lightbulbs pilfered from all manner of machinery and junk. It’s stylish, in a gaudy way, almost deliberately declaring how the bar is present in the city’s square.

“The Captive Creeper,” He reads out loud. “You’re not getting drunk, are you?” Please tell him that Zylus is not planning on getting smashed before the trip back. Sober Zylus, yes please. Drunk so that he can’t tell which way is up or down, please  _ no. _

“Nooo, I have to see someone in here,” Zylus tells him, sounding far too amused that Lalna thinks that he’s going to get hammered on the job. Without another word, he walks in and up the small set of modest stairs. Lalna reluctantly scuttles after him, if only to avoid being left outside and be forced to wait on his own. Being left on his own is proving to be a horrible idea, which the past has proven time and time again.

The inside of the bar is one of those classy, high-end places that age and wear eventually took a toll on, causing it to appear far shabbier than it really is. The carpet underneath Lalna’s boots once had a velvet red appearance. It’s reduced to being thin enough to serve as a doormat, riddled with holes and the loose threads becoming one with the dark faux-wooden floor.

Most of the furniture is plush (or was, once upon a time, a spectrum of fabric patches adding to the overall ‘functionally falling apart’ effect). The majority are set in booths, roomy enough to comfortably fit Larry Robert In. The rest of the seats are circular metal stools set into the floor by the bar’s curving counter. A tasteful assortment of smoky glass bottles line the two rows of shelves behind the bar. Darkness acts as a curtain for half of the motley collection of booze stocked there.

The sight that baffles Lalna when entering is the snoozing figure bundled up in a traveler’s grubby coat. They’re trapped in a cage positioned by the DJ booth, comfortable on the cage’s floor. A wide-brimmed hat conceals their face from staring. Corks hanging off the hat bob in time to gentle snoring. Propping their head up is a canvas bag, the strings drawn up tight. A sign declares ‘PLEASE DON’T FEED ‘DAVECHAOS’ THE SWAGMAN NUTS FROM THE BAR.’ above the figure.

“Who’s that?” Lalna whispers. Zylus has stopped by the bar, peering around for whoever he’s looking for. Not finding them, he turns to Lalna.

“Oh, that’s Davechaos. Davechaos is being paid to be there, by the way,” He explains upon seeing Lalna’s confused expression.

“Oh! Okay. Right.” Lalna lets out a laugh that gives away his nervousness. “Of course. Silly me.” No, that doesn’t really explain anything.

“Did you think they’d want to be there if I didn’t pay?” notes an amused voice from the side. Lalna looks up to spot a blonde-haired sheriff with her hands planted on her hips. “Well, well, look who we have here. Zylus, I thought you were never going to show.” Spurs rhythmically clink on the floor as she circles the two of them, taking her time to do so.

“I told you I’d show up here eventually,” Zylus smugly retorts, mimicking her posture. She’s shorter than him, still taller than Lalna. This person must be the aforementioned Minty, because no other person can smirk and make it look that frightening. Or smile and make it look that terrifying.

“Good, because we wouldn’t want Vault Hunters on your tail now, would we?” Minty laughs, dropping her hands as she slides behind the bar. “And who’s this with you?” Her cool gaze make Lalna feel as though he should be hiding all his secrets in a safe and that safe should be buried at the bottom of the deepest ocean known to people.

“Lalna, meet Minty,” Zylus introduces, “Minty, Lalna. Lalna is a Vault Hunter.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you.” Lalna holds out his hand, trying not to seem meek. Realising that he’s holding out his metal one, he hastily switches it. People could be weird about shaking metal arms on the assumption that he wouldn’t feel the handshake. Or pending pain if they anticipate him crushing their fingers by accident (no easy feat but if he really wanted to, he could).

Minty takes it with her own, giving a firm handshake that leaves Lalna with the ghost of the leathery calluses impressed on her palm and fingers. An observant person would have noted that the impressions are permanently worn right into her skin. Lalna’s own are still baby soft, pinker than what people thought of as healthy and of course, most of the skin’s still in recovery from being sunburned.

“Nice to meet you too.” The polite gesture appears to mollify her. “As the sheriff of Concordia, I trust you ain’t going to cause problems?” There are many things that she is not saying so openly. All of them involve some sort of pain for crossing her or breaking any of her straightforward rules.

“No, not at all! I try to stay out of trouble!” Lalna hastily says. He hopes that she doesn’t know about the trouble that’d gone down in Lynchwood or whatever trail he’d left on Pandora. News didn’t travel that fast between Pandora and Elpis, right?

“Good boy. That’s what I like to hear from a tourist.” Minty tips her hat at him, her lips turning up at the corners in a satisfied smile. If it’d been anybody else, Lalna would have been offended to be called ‘boy’. Since it’s Minty, Lalna will allow it because disagreeing with her seems to be a suicidal move.

Zylus doesn’t seem that fazed by her sheriff posturing. “You wouldn’t happen to have any jobs for Lalna, would you?” Hearing that makes Lalna’s blood freeze. How he hasn’t turned into a human popsicle is a miracle. It takes him every single effort to not kick Zylus in the shin for that.

To his relief (and he almost falls to his knees to thank her), Minty regretfully sighs. “Nope, I’m all fresh out of jobs after the last two lots of freelancers, including my lovely ex, bless her, passed through here.”

“Ah, that’s a shame.” Zylus gestures at the doorway of the bar. “There’s not even any jobs at the bounty board?” Lalna can see the indicator for the bounty board in his HUD. In a voice where he doesn’t even bother to hide what he’s saying from her, he says to Lalna, “Minty usually likes hiring freelancers, which is a little strange for a sheriff.”

“I said I’m all out. Besides, who’re you calling strange?” Minty lazily drawls. “Bit odd hearing that coming from a man who I’ve never seen take off his old uniform, even if you paid him a million bucks to strip.”

Zylus steps back, looking aghast. “Well, I actually  _ like _ wearing my uniform! And I’m not going to strip even if you did pay me that much!” That paints Lalna a detailed mental image that lingers for a few seconds longer than what’s considered decent in regards to spontaneous fantasies.

“If somebody does happen to pay up, feel free to use the pole over on the stage.” Indeed, when Lalna looks over, there’s a steel pole set in the middle of it. He wipes his face clean of all emotion. Or at least, he hopes he does. Fortunately, Zylus and Minty are too engaged in banter to pay too much attention to him.

“No.” Zylus deadeyes her. “I’m flexible, but not that flexible.”

“You and I, of all people, should know that Dahl soldiers seem to prove that wrong time and time again,” Minty carefully notes with a knowing smirk.

“Not with them anymore!” Zylus reminds, his voice rising a pitch.

“You’ll also get asked out again if you keep wearing that around here,” Minty warns, her smirk still present. It reminds Lalna of pointed rows of teeth, or a waiting steel trap. “Best not to break more hearts than you already have. You and Bluari must be tied at this point.”

“I wouldn’t have a clue,” Zylus admits, rubbing his eye guiltily. “You’d think there’d be some sort of running joke with your folks to see how many people can get rejected by me and Bluari in one day.”

“Who knows? All I do is serve drinks and make sure nobody speeds in these parts. I also don’t got time for silly love games.” Minty shrugs like it’s not any of her concern if it doesn’t involve real trouble. She turns to Lalna, who’s been eyeing the tempting slots machine in the corner. “Lalna, you wouldn’t happen to know a Rythian, would you?” She inquires.

Being addressed by her startles Lalna out of wanting to burn through his savings. “I do, actually.” How Minty knows Rythian is a question he’d like being answered. “Why?” 

Minty’s not exactly Rythian’s kind of person, given Rythian’s tendency to keep the law at arm’s length. Or better yet, out of the picture wherever and whenever possible. After the last few run-ins with previous sheriffs, Lalna doesn’t blame him for wanting to steer clear of pending trouble, job or no job.

“Just wondering. You Vault Hunters all seem pretty chummy with one another.” Minty’s succinct answer almost baffles Lalna before he works out that she’s expecting him to elaborate.

“We’re actually traveling together,” Lalna concedes. Upon seeing Minty’s eyebrows rise, he wants to kick himself for saying too much and too little. “With two other Vault Hunters.” Only when he sees her grin again does Lalna want to bury his face in his hands at his own loaded wording.

“Well, I’m not judging polyamory, considering it’s fun if done right.” He’s thankful how she’s being nice about it even if she sounds like her impression of him is growing in all the wrong ways. Lalna takes back the part about being scared stiff of her. Minus the makings of a sheriff, Minty’s not all that bad to talk to. He’s beginning to get why Zylus is chatty with her.

“Which you’d probably know all about,” Zylus mutters out of the corner of his mouth, causing Lalna to make a small, horrified squeaking sound for his audacity. Minty shoots him a cool look. He smiles at her, feigning his innocence. There could have even been a halo floating above Zylus’ head. She drops the smirk to raise her metallic fist, stepping out from behind the bar.

“I do, but that doesn’t mean you can be a smartass-”

“How do you know Rythian?” Lalna quickly asks her, largely so she doesn’t end up punching Zylus, knocking him out cold and making them late for the flight back.

Minty puts her hand down, tilting her head thoughtfully to regard Lalna. “He poked around Elpis for a while and did some jobs for me before concluding that there’s nothing on Elpis. Hyperion picked this place clean, so I don’t know what he was looking for,” She recalls.

“That sounds like Rythian, all right. He used to do that when I was traveling with him too,” Zylus confirms. “Didn’t Teep come here with him?”

“Don’t talk to me about Teep,” Minty says in a low voice that possesses an undertone promising another punch. Wisely, Zylus holds off, making Lalna wonder what Teep did to earn her ire. Minty briskly continues like Zylus hadn’t said anything, “Eventually, Rythian buggered off back down to Pandora. Haven't heard from him since. How’s he, by the way?”

“He’s doing fine,” Lalna lies. “Drinks a lot, but I think everybody drinks on Pandora.” By that definition, everybody on Pandora is an alcoholic who considers quitting to be losing at life. He has a feeling that if he stays on the planet (or its moon) for any longer, he’ll join their ranks.

“You got to. Hard to live, otherwise. Plus, I’d be out of business if people didn’t drink,” Minty says, giving a harsh, sardonic laugh.

“True,” Zylus agrees, good-naturedly. “Before I forget, where do you want these?” He spawns a rations box onto the counter, the box landing with a sufficiently heavy thump. Inside, objects clunk. Leaning over, Minty checks the sticker on the side, tapping her fingers on the counter.

“How many did you bring up?”

“About thirty boxes. And some mail.”

“You can put them out back.” Minty hefts up the box, tucking it under an arm. “Zylus, you going to help shift these? These other supplies aren’t going to move themselves back there.”

“Of course I’ll help! I don’t ditch and run, you know...”

“I can help!” Lalna bravely volunteers, wanting to maintain his good impression.

“Nah, we got this,” Minty absently dismisses. “Besides, you’re a tourist. Go wander around Concordia. We’re a nice place, so long as you don’t go anywhere that’s off-limits.”

“She’s lying, Concordia is a utter shithole,” Zylus says while wearing a grin.

“Ignore him,” Minty promptly says, smacking Zylus in the arm as she passes him. It elicits a wince from him, given that she’d used her metal arm.

“I’m a Vault Hunter, not a tourist!” Lalna corrects, even if the label (let alone saying it out loud) makes him feel slightly ill to his stomach.

“If you say so, Lalna the Vault Hunter and definitely not Lalna the tourist,” Minty remarks, chuckling.

“Wait outside. I won’t be long,” Zylus says, following Minty to the back of her bar. The two round the corner by the slots machine, picking up the thread of their bicker. It spools out behind them.

Now properly alone, Lalna walks past Davechaos (who’s yawning in their cage). He steps out into Concordia’s depressing atmosphere. The air’s dropped a couple of degrees for his skin to revert to goosebumps instead of sweating. Looking around, Lalna decides that it wouldn’t hurt to examine the headless statue located across from the bar. Up close, he giggles at seeing all the graffiti (consisting of badly drawn dicks in marker) adorning its carved coat.

With Pandora and Helios forming a scenic backdrop behind him, Lalna whips out his ECHO device and snaps a quick selfie, feeling self-conscious about doing so but not giving that much of a fuck. It’ll be a great photo to show Lalnable; that is, if he ever feels like returning to Pandora.

He can’t leave Lalnable on Pandora. Maybe Lalnable can move in with him on the mining rig and use the Fast Travel Station to travel back and forth. It has to be better than staying on that planet for good, right?

Lalnable can’t possibly be thinking of spending the rest of his life on Pandora. The idea to Lalna is unthinkable, heinous and deplorable because if it’s not the wildlife or the ridiculous amounts of hazards that’ll do Lalnable in, it’ll be overworking himself to death that finally does him in.

Lalna doesn’t want to have that talk with Lalnable about what either of their plans are, especially one that involves the future and remaining on the planet. It might make them fight again, not when they’re trying their hardest to reconcile. Lalna doesn’t really want to make the healing rift between them any wider by detonating the mother of all explosives in the form of arguing about Lalnable’s final decision to stay.

The ECHO device is put away. Future selfies will lack the same spark as the first one. Besides, one will suffice as a souvenir. Seeking another distraction, Lalna spies a store (labeled as an ‘emporium of stuff’) and steps inside to check what it has to offer him. He’s got all that money left over from the gun shop trip to spend.

Five minutes later, he walks out with a set of palm-sized, green shiny stones called ‘moonstones’. The people inside the shop had been insistent that they’d serve as a fantastic Elpis souvenir, on top of them being worth a lot on Pandora. He’d paid pretty cheaply for the stones, puffing up with pride for his choice of purchase. Who cares if it’s cheesy, it’s the thought that counts.

He’ll give one moonstone to Lalnable, one to Rythian, one to Nanosounds and one to Will Strife. He’ll keep one for himself. Pulling out a marker (filched from Lalnable’s clinic, which he’ll bring it back one day), Lalna scribbles the date and year on the underside of his own stone. There, now he’ll know that this one is his. He carefully puts the moonstones away in a box stuffed with Elpis’ outdated newspaper pages, snugly closing the lid down.

Gift shopping done, Lalna can’t think of what else to do, passing a wall covered entirely in flyers by the bounty board. A Stringray advertisement pasted on the bounty board gives Lalna the mother of all ideas, the idea riveting him to the ground with excitement until he can contain it.

Didn’t Will and Rythian say that they got their Stingrays on Elpis? Or Rythian implied, if he acted like he’s seen one before. That must mean that there’s a way to get a hold of them here. It’d be quicker to ask; the people inside the emporium clearly knew their stuff. They wouldn’t mind him asking.

Twenty minutes later, Lalna is eyeing the shimmering barrier separating him between the Triton Flats and Concordia. On this side is lovely oxygen, the stuff he needs to live. On the other side is nothing but the harsh, cold vacuum of space and possibly death. In theory, his shield should protect him. He’d checked the settings, twice, and changed the battery to a new one.

Lalna takes a deep breath and thrusts his left boot out through the barrier. It’s tingly, not as jarring as Fast Travel, but enough to still be an uncomfortable sensation. Here goes nothing. He steps through the barrier, instinctively holding his breath and preparing to dive back through.

The Oz kit perching on his shoulder detects the immediate change, a bubble instantly forming around his head. Lalna feels cold air traveling over his face from the Oz kit. In his HUD, a meter depletes with every breath. He exhales and inhales, testing the kit out.

The meter plummets sharply, forcing him to abandon the experiment. Right, so no extensive running out here. A couple of spare pressurised air canisters (bless Zylus for including those) will provide a couple of refills. After that, Lalna hopes that he can hold his breath to make it back. He doesn’t want to think about what’ll happen if he runs out of air before then. A grisly fate awaits him if he failed.

Ten or so metres away is the Catch-A-Ride Station. Lalna leaps over to it, using the moon’s lower gravity to his advantage. Fortunately, the clearance from Pandora works on Elpis (well, obviously). With no time to lose, Lalna snags the blueprint of the Moon Buggy (however well that’ll end up working on Pandora) and the fabled Stingray. A push of the station’s button digistructs his first, very own Stingray in his preferred shade of hot pink.

Emboldened by his own initiative, Lalna hops on it. It bobs in the air, adjusting to his weight. On Elpis, the Stingray floats without any risk of his feet dragging on the ground. His eyes scan the hilly surroundings, gauging the possibility of being attacked. It couldn’t hurt to take his brand new Stingray for a spin.

Besides, he’ll be back before anybody knows and if he’s late, Zylus can ECHO him.

\--

More than a thousand miles away, back on Pandora in T-Bone Junction, Ravs is about to raid Zylus’ unsuspecting cupboards for provisions. Provisions being of course, the secret stash of rakk ale that he knows Zylus owns.

Back when he’d turned up on Mercenary Day on Zylus’ doorstep years ago, Zylus had made the mistake of allowing Ravs into the kitchen for a shared dinner. In doing so, he’d inadvertently revealed exactly where he kept his rakk ale. Ravs hadn’t meant to see; it just happened that he’d glanced over at precisely the wrong moment to spot the familiar box of polished brown bottles peeking out from a stack of garishly colored plates chipped around the curved edges.

From the back of the cupboard, Ravs nonchalantly removes a couple of bottles. After tucking them away, he picks up ingredients during his evaluating sweep of the cupboards. It’s been at least an hour since Zylus and Lalna left. He might as well make use of the time to make food. Not that Ravs believes that he’s a bad cook in any way. A bad cook is better than none. Might as well be good at it. Good, partially edible food worked just as well as cold hard cash, frozen body parts, sex, or threats of physical harm. That’s pretty much why Ravs is currently cooking up a bunch of meals to replace the rakk ale he’s going to pinch.

It’s also not that Daltos is driving him to drink mid-morning (although he’d come close in the past, generally post-argument or post-fun). Every once in a while, Ravs likes to sample other people’s booze. Hey, a bartender sometimes got sick of their own brews. So logically, Zylus could be sick of his own cooking. Ravs can’t help but chuckle at the five tuna sandwiches he finds stored in one of the storage units. He pockets one, barely remembering what fish tasted like.

Besides, Zylus isn’t a stranger to bartering, possessing a knack for it. If he’s not happy with the exchange, Ravs is open to discussing another ‘arrangement’. Heh, he should save that one for later, to see if he can fluster Zylus. These days, it’s a hit or miss with him.

Ravs tracks down a bunch of ingredients that seem mostly edible, expertly tossing a couple into an oiled pan to let the heat bounce them around in a generous dash of hot sauce. It’s some sort of curry, supplemented with meat nearing its expiry date. He forgets if it’s Teep or Zylus who can’t handle hot stuff. Zylus will just have to deal, and Ravs knows that he wouldn’t turn his nose up at a meal even if it reduces him to tears.

The smell’s drawn Daltos out of the bedroom. Ravs knows because he can sense someone pausing at the doorway, long enough to see what’s going on. Before Ravs can ask if he wants some fresh grub, Daltos is heading off down the corridor. That can’t be right; Zylus had explicitly asked not to let him out of the town. It couldn’t hurt to bend that rule a bit. Ravs gives Daltos a headstart of about five minutes, finishing up his current task.

That’s one meal out of five; the other four will have to wait. Leaving the pan where it is, Ravs checks that the stovetop is off before following Daltos outside.

Just because he’s nowhere in sight doesn’t mean he’s actually left the town. Ravs pauses, considering the layout of the whole town for likely haunts. On a good day, coaxing Daltos to come back inside will be incredibly easy. On a bad day, it’ll be like asking a bullymong to stop throwing rocks at him. There’s no reason for him to go outside, unless.

Ravs chuckles. Well, Daltos can’t have gone very far, even with a headstart. Ravs ambles down an alley. If he listens with care, he can hear a second set of footsteps. They’re trying to stay ahead of him, using the building as a barrier. So, he’s already onto him. This’ll be fun.

“Smoking is bad for you!” Ravs lets his voice carry down the alley to where Daltos is. Resulting silence or not, he can work with either one.

“That’s what they all say!” Daltos’ voice, faint and amused, responds. Ravs had been counting on that, tracking him with it.

“You should quit!”

“Only when I’m good and ready!”

“I’m sure you can do it this time!” 

“You’ve never seen me try!”

“I have confidence in you!”

“Confidence is nice but it’s not going to stop me murdering my bandits!”

“You have a support network! Use it!”

“And never hear the end of all their bragging about how they got me to stop? Fuck no!”

“You have me! I’ll help you in  _ any _ way I can!”

“I don’t trust you coming anywhere near me!”

“I swear I won’t throw your smokes over the edge!” Again, that is.

“That is exactly the kind of thing I know you’ll do, so no!”

“I swear I won’t!”

“Leave me alone with my only guilty pleasure in life!”

“Not if it’s killing you! There are other outlets! I can think of at least one we’ll both enjoy!” This is pointless and stupid and he’s loving it. Ravs is sure he’s getting closer by the minute, judging by how Daltos’ voice drifts towards him. “Enough joking, let’s go back inside! I made us some food you’d probably like!” This time, there’s no answer from Daltos. Not initially worrying about it, Ravs rounds the corner. He finds him slumped against the cracking brick wall. 

In a flash, Daltos’ gaze snaps to him, hands rising to fold into fists. His dark brown eyes are filled with guarded wariness. His glare softens once he recognises Ravs, his whole posture slackening as his hands drop to his sides.

“Shit, you caught up,” Daltos says, giving a weak, pained laugh. “I should have kept moving.”

“What’s wrong?” Ravs leans in close, sensing that something’s off. There’s no acrid smell, though he guesses that the smokes and lighter are stashed on Daltos’ person. Always, in all the times he had to toss that familiar navy blue jacket over. “You were lying about smoking, you ass.” He expects Daltos to make a run for it, once they’re standing side by side.

Daltos remains supported by the wall, giving a light shake of his head. “I needed to get out or I’d have thrown the book at your head if you made one more fucking innuendo.”

“You don’t have to lie about wanting some fresh air with me.” Ravs keeps the chagrin to ‘I’m disappointed you didn’t trust me enough to tell me sooner’ rather than ‘I’m angry  _ and _ disappointed that you didn’t tell me sooner’. ”I’m not that cruel.”

“You’ll only deliver,” Here, Daltos has to take a deep breath before continuing, “when I ask for it.”

Ravs refrains from correcting it to ‘more like make you beg for it’, saying instead, “Look who’s the one making stupid jokes now?” He doesn’t have the heart to lecture at a time like this. There’s an absence of color affecting Daltos’ face, hard to tell unless one knew what to look for. Walking continuously for five minutes shouldn’t drain him this much.

Ravs fully well knows that he’s capable of so much more. Together, the two of them have gotten into more trouble than Daltos’ whole gang combined, years ago. So, yes, he’s fucking worried that a mere walk tires him out this quickly.

“I’ll be fine, just give me a second.” Again, Ravs doesn’t say anything dirty; that’s how concerned he is. Five minutes later, Daltos is struggling to stand fully upright, hands braced on his knees. Whatever air he’s trying to breathe in clearly isn’t enough.

“What’s wrong?” Ravs doesn’t want to touch him, not without asking first or if he wants to leave T-Bone Junction with his fingers still intact.

“Heart’s not cooperating,” Daltos grounds out. That’s the most he’ll give as an explanation.

“Let me help,” Ravs gently tries. “You can’t walk back like this.”

There’s at least enough air in Daltos’ lungs for him to respond without taking forever. “What do you propose?” Daltos lifts his head, enough for Ravs to see that he’s being dreadfully calm about a malfunctioning heart that could possibly give out at any second or implode. 

Ravs’ fretting mind bats away at all those outcomes, deciding to be sensible about this because the only other option is to force the issue. Forcing the issue, as the past is liable to attest, invites the ridiculously high possibility of slinging words at each other until one of them withdrew in a barely contained rage (to either drink or smoke outside).

In the end, it’d never been that serious to begin with, because. Because. Ha, well. When Ravs really thinks about it, neither of them had been willing to compromise. Looking back on all that, the incompatibilities between them are as clear as day and night. Back then, it’d seemed like if they both tried their damndest, it’d all work out somehow. In spite of all their care and agreeing to disagree, Ravs knew deep down that it wouldn’t (but it wouldn’t stop them from bloody trying).

It hadn’t.

“It’s better this way,” Daltos had said, summing it up in just a few careful words. He’d had a smoke out in his hand, though he hadn’t lit it up yet. 

“I agree,” Ravs had said, watching him being framed in the doorway and after the front door had closed, he’d numbly stared at the wall, remembering how they’d met and everything in between then and now. Three hours after that, there’d been knocking on his back door and- just like that, it’d be years before they’d meet again.

Sometimes, Ravs lies awake in bed to think about what could have been. It’s never longer for more than a few minutes, a lot like hanging onto a familiar pillow after a nightmare or seeking out a favourite, dog-eared paperback even if one could recite it backwards in their sleep.

He’d heard through the grapevine that Daltos had stopped smoking for a month.

In the present, Ravs takes a deep breath before proposing, “It’s easy. I carry you back.” He waits for Daltos to figure out if that’s acceptable. Often, it’s the simplest solution that generates friction between people. Or how they react to it.“You’ll take half an hour to walk back in that state.” It’s a gross exaggeration, but one that makes his point clear.

Shockingly, Daltos consents with an almost imperceptible nod. Picking him up is made easier by his lack of resistance and argument. Ravs opts for the carry that’ll at least, preserve Daltos’ dignity.

Huh, he’s lost weight, enough for it to be noticeable. Well, running a bandit gang is one surefire way to get into shape (and fast). The trip back to the building takes less than five minutes, even with Ravs’ careful pace. He sticks to level ground, cradling Daltos against his body. The Loaders around town scatter out of his way. One of them tugs a trash can out of Ravs’ way. Ravs is busy checking that he’s not jostling his passenger too much with his stride.

Nothing’s said in the time it takes for Ravs to nudge open the front door with his boot and make it down the hallway.

In the bedroom, he deposits Daltos onto the bed. A brief, cursory scan of the bedside table reveals two bottles of pills peeking out from behind a pile of books.

“You take sleeping pills?” Ravs puts back the one that’s not whatever Lalnable prescribed for an uppity heart. He cracks open the other bottle, the anti-tamper seal falling to one deft turn of the lid. One pill is extracted after a rough shake. He pushes a bottle of water towards Daltos as Daltos is tugging off his gloves. The gloves are dropped on top of the books.

Daltos shakes his head, sitting up to gulp down water. He wipes his mouth with the back of his bare hand, muttering, “Must be Zylus’ pills.” There’s a joke to be had there. This isn’t really the time or place, so the opportunity fades.

Ravs hands him the pill. Daltos swallows it, grimacing as it goes down. “Do you want something to eat too?”

“You planning on spoon feeding me?” Daltos dryly asks. Only an obliging wink from Ravs answers him, now that the danger’s passed. “No thanks.”

“You need to eat, or your meds aren’t going to go down well.” Ravs finds the tuna sandwich in his inventory. Well, there’s four still left. He can take one of the others. “Here, have Zylus’ tuna sandwich.”

“You stole me one of his sandwiches.” Daltos looks like he’s not sure whether to laugh or just accept the sandwich that’s being offered. “Did you know that Zylus can eat the same thing for five days straight? It’s fucking horrible.” He sighs after making that profound observation. “Letting him cook is a big mistake.”

“Well, I’m sure he won’t mind if I tell him I stole it and ate it.” Ravs pats his own stomach to disguise how his mind is turning that interesting tidbit inside out. That’s all the more reason to make extra meals then. Seeing no point in declining the sandwich, Daltos gingerly takes it. “You’d better be done with it by the time I come back, or it’s airplane time.”

“Just go already,” Daltos says, rolling his eyes. When he peers at the sandwich, he suppresses the urge to dump it out the window and lie to Ravs.

A Loader’s parked underneath the window; he’d seen the machine settle there, right after Ravs had carried him into the bedroom. Zylus is also probably not going to appreciate randomly coming across a Loader walking around with a tuna sandwich placed on top of its head.

And it’d be a waste of a decent sandwich. Daltos tears off a chunk, checking between the layers for Ravs sneaking in any weird ingredients. Ravs didn’t get to being a good cook based on talent alone. Constant experimentation and beginner’s luck paved the start of his attempts. Daltos counts himself as one of the lucky few who’d tasted Ravs cooking once he’d (mostly) gotten the hang of it.

By the time Ravs has gone off and returned with another bottle of water, Daltos has taken off his boots and shirt, abandoning said items on the floor. All the crumbs are being herded towards the other side of the bed, tumbling over the threads and one another to lodge into whatever crevices have formed along the sheets.

Satisfied that his side is crumb free, Daltos climbs into the bed. Ravs leaves the new water bottle by the pill bottles, drawing close. “Feel better?”

Daltos lets out a soft, irritated sound that has Ravs smiling because the transparent lie is just for the sake of appearance. “No.”

“You will, once you sleep.” Ravs leans over him to tug the sheets up. 

Daltos allows the sheets to reach his arms before shoving half of them off him, away from his bandaged chest. “I’ve already slept for ten hours.” Still, a yawn tells Ravs that someone could use another couple hours of peaceful downtime.

In an affectionate tone that would have earned an instant punch to the face for being ‘a sappy piece of shit’ at any other time, Ravs says, “More sleep won’t kill you.” Leaning over to run a hand through Daltos’ hair is a daring move. He wouldn’t have attempted it if Daltos had been well enough to start shit. The fingers of Daltos’ left hand twitches, as though he’d have liked to bat Ravs’ away.

“I’ll pay you back for today.” It’s a simple statement, rather than a mission, and it’s one that has Ravs chuckling softly. This isn’t the typical kind of favor that he tucks away in his little, crowded black book for safekeeping. 

No, it’s deeper than that: it’s personal. It’s to be treasured, saved for when it needed to matter. A bit like knocking on the door of someone’s conscience to let them know that someone cares about their actions.

He can’t help the burst of bittersweet tang of nostalgia, his mind pulled back to when times been far more simpler, just the two of them being the rowdiest bandits possible and raising hell down south. Saying ‘forget about it’ sounds like he’s brushing Daltos off. They’ve both grown past that. Judging by Daltos’ sleepy albeit nostalgic expression, he’s reading from the same page.

Ravs veers around the issue by saying tactfully, “You can do that by dropping by for a drink sometime. Bring Zylus. Or he can bring you.” A shrug indicates he doesn’t care about how the arrangement is settled, so long as they both eventually turn up in Sanctuary Hole. Getting the two to reconcile will be tricky (‘like herding cats’, to borrow Nilesy’s favourite expression) but Ravs believes that it’s possible.

His thumb tenderly musses up the gradient of pitch black and silvery grey above an ear. Sharp eyes slide shut. Grumbling about nothing in particular, Daltos drifts off, aided by the painkillers and Ravs’ stupidly warm hand resting against his head.

Mission accomplished. Ravs takes his hand away, gratified that he’d helped, even if didn’t seem much right now. He removes the pill bottles to be on the safe side. On the way to the door, the forgotten shirt’s picked up from the floor. With a couple of deft movements, it’s folded up and left in reach on the bed.

Tougher bandits could be prickly about help (to be precise, just about everything) but that didn’t mean that they were ungrateful if help is offered in the first place.

\--

After performing a dozen shaky donuts in front of the Triton Flats’ Catch-A-Ride Station, Lalna dares to stray off the beaten track next to him. The track’s been ground into the surface of Elpis from all the Moon Buggies that ever passed through the area. The Stingray has no objections to that, allowing him to lead it towards the flats. Craters lend the terrain a series of rises and falls, bouncing Lalna across the landscape like a stone skipping across a pond’s surface. With the Stingray, Lalna finds the land no trouble to navigate. Without wheels, he doesn’t have to worry about puncturing tyres or bits falling off if he’s going too fast.

He spends about ten minutes entertaining his own idea of sick stunts off a nicely shaped curve inside a crater when an enormous creature drifts overhead.

It bears a passing resemblance to one of those things with tentacles- Lalna’s mind dutifully supplies ‘cephalopod’ from that one time he’d spend an hour hitting up hilarious videos on marine life gone wild. Except cephalopods didn’t  _ float _ , nor possess a head split down the middle _.  _ Or have numerous, bulging eyes centered around two vertical ones. A bunch of twitching tentacles hang off its underside, swaying from the motions of its movement. Frost mists off its icy white lumpy hide, leaving a cloak of falling flakes drifting along behind it.

A series of curious clicking sounds fills the air as Lalna stares at it, his mouth hanging open. Next to varkids, the  _ thing  _ definitely competes for first place in his extensive list of ‘things he hopes to never see in his worst nightmares’. He’ll take murdering the everloving fuck out of every bandit he’s ever met, thanks.

His knee-jerk reaction is to fire the Stingray’s flak cannon at it. The thing reacts by way of flailing its tentacles at the impacts, the projectiles sloughing off ice and flesh, exposing its squishy, purpling pulsing insides. In the vacuum of space, the insides begin to leak, boiling upon exposure to vacuum as it seeps out.

Before Lalna can celebrate, a layer of ice seals the wound shut. The thing rises higher into the air, all of its eyes focused on him. It raises a tentacle. Despite the distance separating them, Lalna flinches, mistaking it for an attempt to stab him. Instead, the tentacle’s stabbed into the creature’s own body. The end is withdrawn. Hanging off the end of it is _another creature_ being dragged from a puckered, glistening orifice. Three more emerge after another three crude stabs, wet flimsy wings trembling as they unfold..

Miniature  _ things,  _ all of them gliding towards him, as disgusting as the parent with a lone eye and oh fuck, if those are stingers or claws, he can’t tell. Lalna wants to scream and back up. Unfortunately, he’s trapped between it and the rocky surface behind him, penned in by nature, his own stupidity and fear.

The thing gurgles, turning a pirouette in the air to fling a bunch of sharpened ice shards at him. He instinctively strafes to the side, the shards slamming into the rock where he’d been a second before. Pieces of the rock fly out, floating off through space. The remnants of ice coats the debris in a fine layer of frost. Lalna fumbles for the Stingray’s flak cannon, only to pause as his mind considers another worthwhile option: why not test Larry Robert?

The diagnostics have come up clean. In theory, Zylus’ upgrade shouldn’t crash Larry Robert once Larry Robert’s deployed. Lalna feels for his palm, contemplatively running a finger over the module there. The creature’s tugging out another batch of mini creatures. Look like it’s test Larry Robert out time.

Larry Robert gets thrown at the thing with all the force Lalna can muster using his artificial arm, throwing his robot as he would when pitching a ball.

“Go, Larry Robert!” He commands. Larry Robert resumes its flight path, sure to collide with the thing. At the last second, right when Lalna is sure that he’s fucked up and is about to see Larry Robert get destroyed for the millionth time (courtesy of a well-aimed blow from a tentacle), Larry Robert unfurls.

The thing gets a face full of metal from Larry Robert’s feet. with a deftness it’s never pulled off before, Larry Robert performs a backflip, folding up to avoid the spray of ice shards the thing fires off in defence. Unfolding again, Larry Robert whips out both guns in mid-air. The contents of said guns are fired right into the creature’s eyes as the robot descends.

The creature lets loose series of high-pitched creaking clicks strung together for this new opponent that’s decided to blind it, lashing out with a massive tentacle. The guns are despawned. With empty hands, Larry Robert grabs the tentacle. A mere twist of the robot’s body tears the tentacle off like it’s made out of paper mâché.

Again, Lalna sees blood pouring out. It evaporates in the vacuum of space. The wound is covered up by the formation of ice; the ice appears to be part of the thing’s natural defenses and offences. The creature decides to spawn more of its flapping offspring, retreating up the slope, pained clicking noises filling Lalna’s ears.

Larry Robert proceeds to mow down all the creature’s persistent offspring with an efficient ruthlessness that Lalna only ever expected to see coming from people like Ravs and Teep. 

Dodging a flurry of homing spikes, Larry Robert passes by Lalna. Fortunately, Larry Robert avoids it by sidestepping the projectiles. Unfortunately, Lalna gets hit in the leg by a stray shard rebounding off the boulders behind him. The offending shard bounces off his shield. It leaves behind a white residue that coats the disturbed, flickering blue protective layer. Sure that it’s nothing to worry about, Lalna focuses on causing a diversion for Larry Robert by adding missiles to the storm of bullets wreaking havoc on the creature’s hide. The creature’s hovering falters. Taking advantage of its wounded state, Lalna presses forward to finish the job.

Five minutes later, Lalna can’t feel his leg at all. He looks down, spotting white crawling up said leg, holding his muscles hostage. On the verge of finishing the thing off, he spares it a brief glance. He reaches down to smash it off with his metal arm. 

The frost is like glue, pulling his fingers and hand in. It’s like quicksand, except it’s cold and it  _ moves. _ With an arm trapped in the awkward position, he can’t reach the Stingray’s flak cannons on the handlebars.

Larry Robert’s busy flying circles around the creature. Ever the watchful guardian, his robot spots his dilemma, moving to help him over eliminating the threat. The creature blocks his robot from reaching him, determined to beat it or die trying. The creature turns, slowly, in the air, to face Lalna. Despite its basal intelligence, it figures out why Larry Robert’s ceased attacking. 

Fuck. Lalna expects to be speared with ice in the next moment, hunching down as low as he can on the Stingray to at least, try to avoid being hurt anywhere lethal. His shield can hold up to one wave of ice. After that, he has no clue.

Lasers burn through the creature’s protective ice, piercing out to emerge out the other side. A Moon Buggy leaps off the ledge above Lalna, right at the creature. Two people wearing Oz kits are aboard.

In the driver’s seat is Zylus, directing the vehicle forwards. With her teeth clamped down on an unlit cigarette, Minty’s braced in the turret, clutching her hat to her head with a hand. With her other hand, she aims the laser turret right at the creature’s eyes. She snaps off a series of precise laser strikes, her aim never wavering even as Zylus brings the Moon Buggy around. The vehicle hits the ground, all four wheels spinning wildly. It bounces off to veer away, leading the creature’s attention.

With too many threats, the creature doesn’t know who to target. Larry Robert joins in to finish what it’d started, assisted by Minty and Zylus. Under the brutal assault from all three, the creature succumbs with one last, pitiful click, sinking towards the ground like a capsizing ship straight from out of all those movies based around a collision with an iceberg. None of those small creatures emerge to take revenge, perhaps trapped inside.

Still frozen in place, Lalna can only watch as Zylus performs a perfect U-turn, executing it along the crater’s edge (performing exactly what Lalna had been trying to accomplish for about ten minutes). A slide brings the Moon Buggy over. He and Minty clamber out, Zylus automatically making a beeline for Lalna. Minty on the other hand, heads right for the corpse.

The creature’s bloated carcass is kicked by her where the ice has melted. Minty chews on her cigarette, appearing to almost consider spitting it out onto the carcass. Instead, she turns to Lalna and Zylus.

“Whose robot is that?” A nod indicates Larry Robert coming in hot for a landing.

“Mine,” Lalna wheezes. He can’t feel his arm or legs, sure that his knees are about to go the same way. The cold is so intense that he’s sure that his insides are shutting down from the clash between temperatures. “Larry Robert’s friendly,” He reassures because he’s not sure if Minty is about to shoot Larry Robert or not.

“Hm,” is all Minty says, her gaze both approving and disapproving. So much for the impression that he’d tried to build in front of her.

Meanwhile, Zylus is examining Lalna, his expression growing worried. “You can’t feel your hands?” He’s wise enough to keep his distance, lest the ice spread to him.

“No, I can’t!” Lalna says, the flutters of panic filling his gut with dread at what’ll happen once the ice reaches his face. The last of his oxygen is going to run out as well. He hears a click from behind his ear as Zylus refills his Oz kit for him, holding up a canister to the slot in the side. Air disperses into his meter and bubbled head.

“It’ll be fine, we just need to borrow someone’s bathroom,” Minty states, wandering over. “We’re not that far from Concordia.”

“I can’t move.” Lalna’s teeth begin to chatter. He hardly has time to wonder what a bathroom has to do with this. The ice has reached his torso and is steadily climbing its way up his chest like a spiderant attempting to web up its latest kill. The shield isn’t doing much to stop the ice’s steady journey to cover his whole body.

“I’ll help you into the turret, but you got to hang on tight once you’re in, okay?” Zylus stashes the drained oxygen canister. He reaches over, grunting from the effort of hefting Lalna up and off the Stingray. He hisses in pain as his bare hands come into contact with the frost. Larry Robert moves to assist, Larry Robert hanging onto Lalna’s other shoulder. With their help, Lalna’s helped into the Moon Buggy’s turret.

Minty takes Lalna’s Stingray. The four of them head back to Concordia. An anxious Bluari admits the four, doing a double take at the sight of Larry Robert tailing the three. A few citizens, evidently frightened of the machine, flee the square as the crew march through. Larry Robert’s carrying Lalna under the arms, the only safe place aside from his head to hold him. Budging Lalna from his pose invites complications, like breaking his stuck arm or legs in the process.

Lalna has no idea where Minty and Zylus are leading him and Larry Robert to. He hopes that it’s not the graveyard. Hadn’t they passed the medical bay earlier?

“Hey, why aren’t we going to the medical bay?” At least his mouth still works.

“Medical bay’s bathroom ain’t big enough,” Minty replies. “We’re here.” She approaches an inconspicuous door hiding amongst others, set in a dingy alley. A couple of empty dumpsters give off the smell of oil and rust. Raising her artificial hand, she thumps the door with enough force to almost dent the metal, shouting, “Pyrionflax! Open up! We’re in need of your bathroom!” When nobody answers, Minty’s tone adopts an impatient edge. “Pyrion! I know you’re in there! Don’t make me break down the fucking door again!”

A window above flies open, the shutter banging. A bald figure thrusts their head out to shout down at her, “Alright, alright, there’s no fucking need to shout!” The ensuing slam rattles the shutters and glass. Lalna would have winced if he could. Footsteps thunder behind the door towards Minty, Zylus, Larry Robert and Lalna.

With equivalent force, the door is thrown open. A stocky bald figure in fuzzy pink carpet slippers, an oversized hoodie and cargo shorts leers at them. “You coming in or what?”

Nonchalantly, like getting rid of a speck of dust, Minty raises her metal hand to flick Pyrionflax on the nose as she passes. It elicits a muffled shriek as Pyrionflax claps their hands to their nose, narrowed eyes watering.

“Remember who you’re talking to,” Minty reminds.

Not wanting another disciplinary flick, Pyrionflax glares at the back of her head, eyes flicking over to Zylus. Zylus pretends to be interested in the stairs as he helps a hobbling Lalna up the steps one by one. There’s a metallic, grinding thunk on the stairs behind the four like a blackboard affectionately getting up close and personal with a crusher.

Almost erasing his progress down the stairs by tipping sideways, Lalna tries to turn his head. From what he can make of the scene below, Larry Robert’s attempting to squeeze into the tiny doorway. Both arms have shrunk into the robot’s frame. Even when compressed, the two limbs and the rest of the robot’s body catch on the doorway.

Lalna’s heart squeezes painfully when Larry Robert’s eye flashes a distressing blue. It feels like a sad face. That’s new. Lalna’s eyes flick over to Zylus, who is watching Larry Robert with raised eyebrows.

“Go away, my door’s not big enough for you!” Pyrionflax dashes forwards, waving an agitated hand at Larry Robert. Their other hand’s still clutched to their throbbing nose, blood pouring out from between their splayed fingers. “You’ll break the doorway!”

Offended by Pyrionflax’s dismissal of his companion, Lalna shouts down the stairs, “Leave Larry Robert alone!” He’s rather touched that Larry Robert feels the need to follow when it’s better to stay put outside.

“You tell your robot buddy to stay outside! That door cost seventy dollars to install!”

“What kind of door is it, if it won’t let a robot in?” Lalna retorts.

“Larry Robert will be fine,” Zylus interjects. A gentle squeeze of his hand reminds Lalna that they still need to go upstairs. “Nobody around here is that stupid as to attack a smart Loader.”

“Larry Robert, wait for me outside!” Lalna calls down. Larry Robert automatically ceases trying to fit into the doorway, obediently standing guard instead. A couple of alarmed passersby skirt around the machine. “Good robot!” A pleased chime from Larry Robert answers him, its eye flashing happily.

Right, that’s also new. Surprised but adoring the change to Larry Robert, Lalna allows himself to be helped upstairs by Zylus. Pyrionflax tosses a nasty look at Larry Robert, slamming the door shut and stomping up after the two. Stomping up stairs while wearing carpet slippers isn’t as intimidating as Pyrionflax tries to make it out to be.

The rooms that belong to Pyrionflax can hardly be called an apartment. The words that come to mind are ‘operating centre’ and ‘shitty scrapheap’. Everywhere Lalna glances, there’s tech. 

There’s tech ripped from old mining machines laying gutted on workbenches. Gun parts and components fill overflowing cardboard boxes, trailing wires and accessories like decorative strings of Mercenary Day decorations. Pieces of computer parts fill all the glass cases rising like stoic towers between rows of tables piled high with gutted machinery. Tools stick out of items, handles pointing up for an easy grab. If Lalna dropped a magnet in here, it’d be sucked into one of those piles faster than he can say ‘whoops’.

Monitors hanging from a wall rotate through photographs of Pandora’s scenery, Concordia’s landscape, looping security footage and flashes of ECHOnet games. There’s no sense to the rotations, a randomised pattern that makes Lalna head hurts when he tries to focus on one image, only for it to jump to another before he can. Pyrionflax doesn’t seem as bothered by the jumps.

It might also be the ice that’s impacting on Lalna’s awareness, gradually depriving him of oxygen now that it’s reached his chest. It’s harder to breathe, as his lungs are being pressed down by the cage forming on top of his ribcage. The still active Oz kit’s not doing much to alleviate the pending lightheadedness. With only a handful of remaining shirt to tug Lalna with, Zylus heaves Lalna sideways and into a bathroom.

Compared to the other room, the bathroom is downsized, pleasingly modest in its fittings and decor. Zylus and Lalna manage to fit in. The two have to be careful not to smack into each other with their elbows. Minty’s crouching by the bathtub, one hand checking the temperature of the filling bathtub. Her own sleeves have been rolled up, exposing the rest of her artificial arm (even with that, Lalna still can’t tell how far up the arm goes).

“Get your boots off,” Minty orders, removing her hand from the water. Water’s flicked at the floor. Lalna nods, easing out of his boots, hampered by only having one functioning hand- she impatiently tugs them off his feet when he fails to obey in time. Boots discarded, Lalna can hardly feel the bathroom floor beneath his bare feet. He vaguely hopes that they don’t smell too bad.

Dropping in, Pyrionflax dumps a wooden chair in the doorway, stalking off elsewhere. The slap of their carpet slippers fade. Zylus hefts it over for Lalna to fall onto. Grateful for it, Lalna mumbles, “Thanks.” One more second and he’d have fallen backwards, unable to bend his knees. The move cracks the ice locking his arm down, allowing him to free it. Luckily, it’d been his metal arm.

Minty prods his feet, right on his big toe. “Can you feel that yet?”

“Not really.” Lalna tries to wriggle his toes. Nothing happens.

“Alright,” Minty says, sounding like she’s chewing on her words as she thinks.

“Dunk his feet,” Zylus suggests. “That’d get the ice right off.”

“Doesn’t mean it’ll be pleasant,” Minty counters.

“If we leave the ice any longer, it’ll crush his lungs,” Zylus points out, ignoring how the ice is clinging to his own hands, arms and jacket, spreading like a blue and white film.

“Have it your way,” Minty calmly says. Lalna doesn’t like how she grimaces. “I’m going to put your feet into the water. Try not to scream too loudly.”

Not daring to ask, Lalna nods. Her hands grasp his feet, lugging them up; the chair prevents him from sliding away or falling over. He can’t even feel her hands, one metal and one not, preparing to dunk his feet.

When the warm water sloshes over his toes and ankles, it introduces a sensation akin to a thousand coals slaking over his skin. Gasping, Lalna slumps back against the chair, alreading wanting it to be over.

“Turn off your shield.” Minty unhooks the shower head from the wall. He obeys, managing to reach into his HUD, just in the nick of time. The activated shower head causes Lalna to doused all over the chest with water as well. He splutters, coughing from the force of the spray. Water trickles down him and the chair, spilling towards the drain.

“You’d better thaw out too, Zylus.” Minty raises her voice over the sound of Lalna’s whimpering and spluttering.

Lalna opens his eyes to witness Zylus unbuttoning his jacket, hanging it over the doorknob. Underneath the jacket is a shirt that’d once been white years ago, browned in places and surprisingly, lacking any sort of stitches. Zylus is rolling his sleeves up, revealing scarred and well-built arms. His hands are beginning to whiten and blister, especially around his palms and fingertips. Frost trails, melting against the sink’s edge.

It must have happened when he’d grabbed Lalna. Guilty over inflicting collateral damage, Lalna tries to apologize. Possessing a different idea, his mouth lets another whimper escape. Closing his mouth ensures that he won’t get a mouthful of water from Minty, who seems bent on getting rid of as much ice as she possibly can with the power of pressurized water.

Zylus makes sure that the water in the sink is flowing before sticking his hands under. He hisses in pain, grimacing also. Aside from that, he bears his own thawing in silence. Lalna wishes that he had that kind of resolve, his poor, abused mind strung out on pain and being soaked all the way to his underwear. There goes his lab coat, t-shirt, underwear and pants of the day. He misses Minty’s eyes traveling over Zylus’ arms.

“Feel anything yet?” Minty asks, turning her approving gaze from Zylus to Lalna. Seeing no ice left to obliterate, the deactivated shower head in her hand’s lowered onto its rack.

“No,” Lalna mumbles, staring at his still submerged feet. He can almost spot a bit of pink returning as his feet are heated up. Well, the scary part of danger’s gone; his feet have yet to return from the land of numbness, appearing dead for the time being.

“Give it a while.” Minty’s statement doesn’t exactly reassure Lalna. And then, sounding matter-of-fact about the near-death experience he just went through, she says, ”You nearly became shuggurath food back there.”

“That was a shuggurath?” Lalna blinks at her. “Wait, you mean that  _ thing _ back there?” It’s an ugly word for an ugly creature.

“Yep. They’re native to Elpis.” Minty fishes in her pockets for a new cigarette. Where the old one had gone between leaving the Triton Flats and arriving at Pyrionflax’s place, Lalna doesn’t know. She manages to find one and sticks it in her mouth, chewing on the end. Perhaps she knows that Pyrionflax will raise hell if she lights it up. “I lost my arm to a big motherfucker that froze it off before I could shoot it square between the eyes.”

Lalna’a gaze is magnetically drawn to her metal arm like a bystander passing a car crash. Her arm’s almost like his, except cruder and rigged from what must have been a base prosthetic years ago. “You had to  _ amputate _ your arm?”

“It was that or die to cryo,” Minty simply says, her smile telling Lalna that she’s amused by his horror. Perhaps that’s the typical reaction she got whenever she’s telling the story. “I had help, don’t worry. What’d you lose yours to?”

She’d told him, so he feels obliged to return the gesture. “Factory accident, when the machine didn’t shut down properly,” Lalna tells her, suppressing a shiver. Or at least, he thinks it was an accident. It’s still rather fuzzy to him, on the account of having his arm being obliterated at the time. “Had my whole arm crushed. They couldn’t reconstruct it.” 

He remembers how much pain he’d been in, even after they’d turned off the machine, screaming nonstop until some kind soul had sedated him. Next, he’d found himself in a hospital bed, his worried parents and a doctor peering down at him. He’d had to scribble down his requests, throat too pained to speak at the time. 

Lalnable hadn’t been there (but he had called a week later, to insist on a replacement that Lalna had ultimately turned down, leading to their estrangement). Even if it’d happened years ago, it’s still fresh in his mind because of what’d happened after he’d dropped the ECHO call.

Minty gives an understanding nod. Her eyes land on his metal arm. “You seem like you know your stuff.”

“I can tune your arm for you, if you want, as thanks for saving my feet,” Lalna offers, appreciating the approving look roaming up his arm. The tiniest bit of sensation is returning to his feet. Water is threading between his toes, reheating skin as whatever massagers in the bathtub circulate the water. The pain’s reduced to a feeling akin to walking on top of a bunch of prickly plants. It’s better than feeling nothing.

“Shucks, it’s mighty kind of you to offer.” Minty raps the metal covering with a scarred knuckle. “I reckon I got the basics down, but I wouldn’t mind having someone who won’t short circuit the thing look at it.”

“Don’t you have doctors here?” Medical bay equals doctors, in Lalna’s mind. He’d have recommended Lalnable, if Lalnable had been capable of traveling up to Elpis. Lalna doubts it, given that Lalnable’s too busy with his clinic as it is without adding another fifty or so patients to it.

“All we got here is a nurse who just came out of retirement and a midwife who’s a former scav,” Minty dryly says, giving him a patient look. “They try, bless them, but I wouldn’t trust them with my arm for all the moonstones on Elpis.”

“What’s wrong with your arm?” At a glance, the outside seems fine. As Lalna perfectly understands, the inside might be a different story altogether.

“Oh, just the usual sensitivity issues, which makes it really hard for me to shoot straight.” Light reflects off the surface of the metal palm that’s held up. A few fingers tremble, hardly noticeable to the untrained eye. To Lalna’s, it’s as evident as the sun crossing the sky. “Calibrating this thing’s like trying to teach a skag how to sit on command: with lots of swearing and patience.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, mostly because of how Pandorans seem to like using skags as metaphors for well, everything. Belatedly, he realises she’s only talking to him to keep his mind off the pain. He says nothing about that, revising his opinions of her once again. 

“You seen skags before?”

“I have been down to Pandora, you know,” Minty evenly says. The slight twitch of her lips suggests that she’s making an effort to not sound patronising. “Lived there, once.”

“Whereabouts?” He’s asking mostly because he can’t think of why people would want to live on Pandora. Permanently, or voluntarily. Well, barring the fact that they’d been born there, that is.

“Here and there. Settled for a bit in New Haven, before it got blasted to bits by a Hyperion stooge.” Minty’s cigarette waggles in her mouth on the last word, expressing her distaste for the corporation. “Good thing I moved out early. Shame about the rent. It was a chipper place, minus all the scythids, wanderers, Vault Hunters and bandits roaming around those parts. Most put up a bloody good fight too.”

“You’ve fought bandits?” The word sends a piece of fear rolling about in the pit of Lalna’s stomach. He masks his reaction by splashing his warmed feet about in the tub, sending a rush of water up and along the sides.

“Psh, bandits are easy to fight, especially if you used to be one.” Minty mimes shooting Zylus in the back of the head with her fingers, chuckling. Lalna giggles (but her being a former bandit would explain a fucking lot, like her casual resorting to violence as a response). Zylus’ attention is drawn by the commotion behind him. His eyes flick to the mirror in front of him.

Turning, he sighs. A waterfall cascades down his arms and hands. Pyrionflax’s bathroom floor is currently a mix of dust, footprints, chipped ice and several puddles of water in the middle of escaping between the tiles. The swollen bathroom mat (reminiscent of a piece of bloated sponge rather than a mat) squishes underneath Minty’s boot. The three of them stare at the resulting mess they all had a hand in creating.

“Not our problem,” Minty automatically concludes. “Your feet done waking up?”

To test that, Lalna raises his feet up and puts every ounce of willpower into making his toes wriggle. To his relief and joy, his toes curl. They’re also wrinkling to high heavens, but that’s not the point.

“Yeah! I got my feet back!” He would have stood up and punched the air but the bathroom is crowded, the floor’s ultra slippery and together, that’s a definite recipe for disaster. “I can feel my feet!”

“Keep it down in there!” Pyrionflax’s harassed voice barges into the room. “Some people have  _ work _ to do, you know!”

“The only work you’re doing is shooting people on the ECHOnet and acting like you deserve a fucking medal for it,” Minty mutters, the jab audible to only Zylus and Lalna.

Zylus smothers his laugh under a wet hand, only to realize that he’s just smeared water all over his own face. He digistructs a dry towel. Lalna stares enviously at it. A towel’s tossed at him by a grinning Zylus. Lalna grabs it before it hits the floor and is ruined.

“Thanks.” That towel won’t be enough to get rid of all the water sticking to him. Lalna will still have to change.

“We’ll let you get changed. Come and find us once you’re done.” Minty rises, leaving the room with a swish of her coat. Her coat leaves a trail on the floor outside. Five seconds later, Pyrionflax emits an enraged bellow for the mess.

“I’ll be back at the Captive Creeper,” Zylus says to Lalna, handing over several more towels. For the umpteenth time, Lalna has to wonder how he’s keeping that much crap stored in his inventory.

He closes the bathroom door, locking it. Once he’s changed into a new pair of clothes and located his boots, Lalna emerges. Compared to earlier, the hallway’s not that well-lit, shadows climbing along the walls and ceiling. He feels along the wall. It leads him back to the treasure trove of tech.

Pyrionflax’s reclining on a fancy padded office chair, chugging the last of an energy drink. The can’s crushed and lobbed into a bin. Flies would have thrown a rave party in the mess.

Several monitors have been dragged together to merge into a giant one. Pyrionflax is concentrating on it, the joystick in his hands squeaking excitedly. In spite of the headphones they’re wearing, they notice Lalna trying to be as inconspicuous as possible (proving difficult, given that his last clean shirt is one nicked from Lalnable’s wardrobe, a monotonous grey thing that reminds him of gruel).

“Hold on, I got a guest, brb.” With a tug, Pyrionflax frees their headphones. The headphones come to rest on a custom stand. 

Lalna’s trying to get over the fact that here is someone who just pronounced ‘brb’ out loud when Pyrionflax coughs. “You want some tea?” They gruffly offer.

“You’re offering me tea?” Lalna had concluded that Pyrionflax had wanted the three (including him) out of their apartment as soon as possible.

“Why didn’t you offer  _ me _ any tea?” Zylus sticks his head up over a stack of dead power cores. Two power cores are held up in his hands. “Can I have these?”

“You’re perfectly capable of making your own tea since I’m out of mugs, and no, you’ll have to pay for those,” Pyrion retorts, gaze snapping back to Lalna. “You want tea or not?”

“Fuck you,” Zylus retorts.

“Name your time, place and date and I’ll be there.” Pyrionflax is sporting an enterprising grin, directing it at him.

“You’re not even my type,” Zylus snaps back. In the dark, it’s impossible to tell if he’s blushing or not.

“I’d hate to guess what your type is, based on your outfit,” Pyrionflax says. Zylus rolls his eyes, choosing to refrain from providing Pyrionflax any ammunition by responding.

“Tea would be nice,” Lalna admits a few tense seconds after the exchange, no longer reeling from the kind gesture. He thinks that Pyrionflax is feeling guilty for a number of things, like not letting Larry Robert in or being snappish about their bathroom being occupied in a time of need. “I could use something warm.”

“Hold on, then.” Pyrionflax shuffles out of the room, past Lalna and down the hallway to a mysterious part of the apartment. That leaves Lalna alone with Zylus. Zylus continues to rummage for a suitable power core.

“Hey, Zylus?” Lalna says.

“Yes?” Zylus lifts his head from inspecting a power core.

“What’d you do to Larry Robert?” Lalna’s been meaning to ask, ever since he’d witnessed Larry Robert’s newest capabilities. He’s ambivalent about how efficient Larry Robert’s become. 

Granted, that’d been the point of the upgrade but the sheer speed of the transformation makes Lalna terrified of what else Larry Robert is now capable of. Considering that he’s is planning on further upgrades, is it going to be a wise decision or one that’ll come back to bite him in the ass later on?

At the question, Zylus tilts his head to consider it. “I had some spare combat programs lying around and thought that they’d help you in your travels,” He says with a shrug.

“Where’d you get them from?” Lalna is reminded of the conversation Xephos began with Zylus about acquiring an A.I.; that probably hadn’t come to any fruition, given Xephos’ dejected expression upon returning to Sanctuary Hole.

“The frigate,” Zylus simply replies and leaves it at that.

Lalna contents with examining Pyrionflax’s setup, hoping that they won’t mind the nosing about. Cables, everywhere, taped to the floor with copious amounts of duct tape. He has to step over them to avoid wrecking whatever said cables are hooked up to. Pyrionflax is in the middle of a game, paused at an outpost of sorts. Their character’s going through an idle animation. Menus crowd the edges of the monitor.

Messages tick up on the screen in the corner. ‘InTheLittleWood’, ‘FiZone’, ‘GodOfArrows’ are asking if Pyrionflax is back yet. Someone prods Pyrionflax’s in-game avatar in the back with a blunt stick. Lalna’s eyes trail over to the list of idle people, where two of the topmost names, ‘Vertiigo’ and ‘DiNoScope’, are greyed out. A whole heap of others leap between the two lists. Those two name remain stubbornly grey.

None of those names are familiar to Lalna, not until he spots a message confined to its own monitor. Checking that Zylus isn’t looking, Lalna risks stepping closer to make out the words. The date and time tell him that this one is fairly recent.

Xephos: Pyrion, I need a favor.

TForce: What kind of favor?

Xephos: I’ll pay you for it.

TForce: Now you’re speaking my language.

TForce: You get a discount for being a long-time customer.

Xephos: I need blueprints.

TForce: For what? I got blueprints for cars, blueprints for cannons, blueprints for power cores, blueprints for shields, blueprints for guns, so you’re gonna have to be a teensy bit more specific.

Xephos: ECHO eyes.

Xephos: I need blueprints for the best ECHO eyes you can find.

TForce: It’ll be expensive.

TForce: What do you need them for?

Xephos: It’s time to upgrade.

TForce: Finally!

TForce: Knew you’d see some sense eventually.

TForce: I got a pair myself, they’re beauties.

TForce: I’ll have the blueprints for you in a few days.

Xephos: Send them over once you have them.

TForce: Will do.

Xephos: Thanks.

Another scan of the monitor reveals another message tucked behind that one. Lalna’s hand finds the console, bringing it up. The date for this one predates the other, being old enough for someone like Lalna to think about closing it. It must be pretty significant for Pyrionflax to leave it up still.

DiNoScope: Don’t forget the deal.

DiNoScope: Or else I’m coming up there again.

TForce: YOU DON’T HAVE TO REMIND ME, I’M ALREADY ON IT.

TForce: IT’S DONE.

TForce: HAPPY NOW?

DiNoScope: :)

TForce: ;;

TForce: You’re a fucking menace to society.

DiNoScope: I know I am.

DiNoScope: And so are you.

TForce: At least I’ve got  _ style. _

DiNoScope: You want to try saying that to my face?

TForce: No.

DiNoScope: That’s what I thought.

DiNoScope: See you around.

Deciding that the risk of digging his own grave is shooting up with every message he reads, Lalna returns the monitor to the way it’d been, retreating to Zylus’ side. A moment later, Pyrionflax returns to the room with a cup (sporting a merry pattern of decorative spider ants) filled with tea. There’s even a matching saucer. The set is thrust at Lalna. He has a second to grab it or it’ll smash on the floor, since Pyrionflax is sliding back into their chair and tugging the headphones back into place.

“Jeez, hold your horses, I’m back- which belligerent asshole decided to put the wreath around my head?” Just like that, Pyrionflax is engrossed in the game, none the wiser to Lalna’s blatant snooping.

Back in the Captive Creeper, fixing Minty’s arm takes Lalna a whole ten minutes. Calibrations add another ten to the whole event. By the end of it, Minty’s so pleased with his help that she gifts him a few bottles of booze taken from her own personal stock. 

“Got a nasty kick to rival Ravs’ brews. If you feel like knocking yourself out, you now got the means,” She happily says, flexing her calibrated arm. “Not to brag or anything, but no matter what he says, I think I make the better moonshine.”

Well, Lalna hasn’t tried hers out yet so he avoids commenting. He tucks the five or so bottles into his inventory. “Hang on, you know Ravs?” He blinks at her. That wouldn't be a massive surprise; Ravs seems to know everybody or has heard of them. It’s the fact that Minty’s dissed Ravs’ drinks and is apparently still around is what’s puzzling Lalna. If she hadn’t told him how she’d lost her arm, Lalna would have assumed Ravs was the cause.

“Hard not to, given that we ran rival bandit gangs, up until he went off to go run that slaughterhouse of his.” Minty grins, her eyes gleaming. “If you run into that bastard again, tell him to go fuck himself.” In spite of the crude words, the message sounds affectionate.

“I-I’ll tell him, if I remember,” Lalna says, with his fingers crossed behind his back. There’s no telling how Ravs might react to being delivered such a message.

“Good boy. If you’re ever in Concordia again, do drop by for a drink.” Minty tips her hat at him, pulling out a lighter to flame the end of her cigarette at last.

If Lalna had been paying close attention, the lighter’s identical to the cheap one that Daltos uses. Since he’s not, Lalna returns to Zylus, the impending arrival to the mining rig occupying his thoughts.

\--

Rythian’s knuckles rap twice on the metal door marking Zoeya’s humble abode. The Caustic Caverns are as chilly as ever, almost making him button up his coat to keep the shivering at bay. He bets that it’ll be warmer inside. Teep loathes the cold and will definitely have the building’s heater set to ‘room’ temperature. Zoeya never minded, given that she claims that it’s good for all the critters in the back room. Saberial liked to cuddle, apparently, despite her resistance to the cold.

He doesn’t have to wait long before the door’s tugged back by one pleasantly surprised Saberial. Warm air coasts over her shoulder, allowing Rythian to appreciate the escaping warmth.

“Rythian! We weren’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes!” She sheepishly rubs the back of her head. Her long hair has a wet sheen to it, lacking the rainbow bandanna that he’s normally tied around her forehead.

Seeing her dressed in boots, sweatpants and a black singlet makes her seem rather ordinary in contrast to the mercenary outfit she’d worn last time. It’d be supremely foolish of anybody to think that she’s any less dangerous when dressed in civilian clothes. It’d be like ambushing Teep while Teep is napping. Only the stupidest of people would risk it.

“I’m sorry, was I too early?” Rythian doesn’t think he’s that early to pick up his gun from Teep, given that his definition of early is about arriving no less than fifteen minutes prior to whatever’s been planned.

That said, the same can’t be said of Zoeya whose habit of being fashionably late to meetings constantly drove Rythian up the wall. Teep, on the other hand, remains punctual to the point of infuriating Rythian because they are always on time.  _ Always.  _ He wonders how that works in tandem with Zoeya’s tendency to make others wait.

“Nope, you know you’re always welcome here, even if you’re early. Just er, don’t mind the mess you’re about to encounter.” She steps aside, allowing him entry to the current bedlam that’s currently Zoeya’s base of operations turned upside-down and inside-out.

Boxes are  _ everywhere.  _ Cardboard boxes, equipment boxes, plastic boxes, boxes of every shape, form, size and possible material that people could get their hands on dominate the inside, filling the hallway in stacks and columns that are as tall as he is. 

Glad that Saberial can’t see his open mouth under his scarf, he manages to squeeze past her without resorting to teleporting. Or tripping on anything as he makes his way to the kitchen, cautious about brushing up against any of the boxes lest he cause an avalanche of falling items and cardboard.

If the hallway’s a traffic jam of cardboard, plastic and metal coupled with stuff randomly piled into boxes, the kitchen is chaos incarnate. 

The immediate urge to tidy up flexes, a muscle that he hasn’t felt so much as twitch in the past years awakening. Except Rythian doesn’t know what he’ll find if he starts doing that in Zoeya’s place. The last time he’d tried to do that, he’d come across a jar of what seemed like a preserved skag’s- he shudders, suppressing the memory as best as he can. That’s it, think of a good book, Ravs’ smile, and a hot cup of coffee after a long day of traveling, to stop the willies.

“How do I get out of here?” Rythian turns to Saberial. He might have stopped the willies affecting him but getting out of the kitchen is still a problem. The kitchen sink is buried underneath clutter. It’ll take one of those abandoned diggers outside to excavate it.

Saberial’s just trekked in behind him, managing to not knock over anything in spite of her wide frame. She could give Ravs a run for his money if she decides to challenge him to arm wrestling, Rythian notes.

“You can never leave,” Saberial intones, giving a laugh after. Rythian rolls his eyes. Already, he can’t remember the way out, let alone what it looks like.

The person responsible for inflicting said hell upon the building pops up from behind a gently swaying stack of manila folders that almost reach the ceiling. “Rythian! Hi!” Zoeya greets. There’s a blue marker tucked behind her ear. Saberial brightens, striding over to retrieve the pen from its hiding place.

“There’s the pen I was looking for!” Saberial uncaps it, scrawling ‘papers’ across a bulging box with the seams leaking bent, papery corners. “You were hiding it from me,” She accuses Zoeya.

“I didn’t mean to!” Zoeya huffs. “But I got to keep track of what’s in all these boxes or I’ll never find anything again and that makes Teep super grumpy.” Saberial returns the pen to behind Zoeya’s ear, delivering a chaste peck to her cheek as she leans away.

“It’s okay, I’ll keep track of everything, plus your number,” Saberial waggles her eyebrows, causing Zoeya to fan herself with a hand.

“Look at this smooth talker, she could definitely compete with Ravs,” Zoeya says, grinning the widest grin that Rythian’s ever seen on her face to date. She’s only ever this happy whenever her experiments or expeditions go according to plan. And that’s rarely.

> I still can’t believe I have to fucking live with this sappy shit sometimes.

Rythian can’t see Teep but he’s sure that they’re hanging around close by if they’re commenting on what’s happening. All the stuff that’s accumulated in the room must be bouncing everyone’s voices towards their location.

“Zoeya, what’s happening to your lab?” Rythian gestures helplessly at all the stuff all around him. He warily tucks his own arm against his sides when his hand collides with a tin box of very pointy surgical instruments. To stop anybody from getting impaled in the foot with the loosened scalpel, he restores the lid. “It looks like a hurricane blew through here!”

“We’re planning a trip to Hunter’s Grotto!” Zoeya drops the flirting in favor of eagerly snatching up a map of Pandora and holding out a tattered brochure of Wam Bam Island. “Look, look, this is where we’re going after that!”

> Tell her that I am not cut out for beach warfare.

Rythian almost snorts, fending off the map and brochure being shoved at him by exasperatedly waving his hands at Zoeya. “Zoeya, I know where it’s located!”

“Well, Teep, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to!” Zoeya raises her voice, looking around for Teep. “But Rythian, I got to show you where all the tropical varkids are!” 

She advances on Rythian for round two, map and brochure held up like knives. The smile she’s wearing isn’t helping. Snickering, Saberial keeps out of her way, unhelpfully drawing back to the doorway she’d came through earlier.

> Somebody’s got to chaperone you two lovebirds.

“We could just ask Ravs to come along,” Zoeya points out, trying to corner Rythian by a teetering stack of textbooks. 

There’s nowhere for him to run to. He teleports to the Rythian-sized gap behind Saberial. In surprise, Saberial nearly elbows him in the spine. He catches himself on the counter before he can collide with a rack of preserved samples. His nose almost touches the glass of one bottle, where an extracted eye stares back at him.

> It’ll be over my dead body that he gets to tag along to Wam Bam Island with us.

> He’ll be too busy hitting on anything that moves to chaperone.

“It’s because he’ll just be trying to hit on you the whole time, isn’t it?” Saberial joins in on shouting, narrowly dodging one determined Zoeya as she dives at Rythian. “And you can’t swim!”

> Yes, that’s exactly it.

> I’d like to spend one day without being hit on.

> Also, fyi, I can actually swim, thank you very much.

Cornered, Rythian has the mental image of a bedraggled Teep wringing out their jacket. That’s happened a few times and needless to say, Rythian and Ravs had learned to keep their backs turned if they didn’t want their necks snapped. “Yeah, best not to ask Ravs. He’s busy enough helping out Zylus.”

> I think you mean busy hitting on Zylus.

> And if Ravs can’t come along? I got somebody else in his stead.

“Who?” Rythian raises an eyebrow, the map and brochure dangerously close to giving him a paper cut.

> Turps.

“Wait, you asked  _ Turps  _ to come along?” The bewilderment allows Zoeya to break through his guard, the map and brochure pressing against his face. The paper smells of pancakes. It’d probably been the mat the plates were sitting on. She giggles, triumphantly.

“I know, isn’t that nice of him to volunteer as a temporary assistant?” Zoeya gushes, beaming like a proud mother, standing back to let Rythian have some breathing room as he grumpily peels the papers from his face. “And you know how hard it is to get good assistants around these parts!”

As somebody who’s been one of her temporary assistants more times than he’d really like, Rythian doesn’t blame anybody who’d rather skip out on being attacked and maimed by wildlife in the name of science. 

Succeeding, he dumps the papers on top of the textbooks, scarcely able to believe that he’d almost been suffocated by bits of paper (smelling of  _ pancakes _ ) wielded by someone who’s less than half his height and twice as wide.

“Nice place you’re going to,” Rythian comments out of politeness. Considering it too much of a waste to afford a day’s stay at Wam Bam Island, let alone Hunter’s Grotto, he nonetheless tries to sound supportive. At least Zoeya’s not interested in becoming a bandit. Or at least, he thinks that she’s not.

“Rythian, you didn’t even look at the map!”

“I did!” Rythian lies, eyes searching for another gap in the cramped room that he can teleport to. Well, Saberial is standing exactly where he needs to go, laughing at his predicament.

> By the way, the exit is behind you, by the bookshelf and fridge.

“Thanks,” Rythian says to thin air, smartly following Teep’s directions out of the kitchen. If Zoeya had tried again, he’d have teleported to Teep in a blink of an eye, fuck what they’re doing.

> Come up to my room.

> Do you need directions for that too?

“Shut up,” Rythian grouses, stepping over a box that’d fallen over and is spilling a bunch of photographs onto the floor. Not bothering to clean it up, he hastily goes before Zoeya can drag him back into the kitchen. He can hear Saberial singing a duet with her as the two wage war on the mess.

A minute later, he suceeds in finding Teep’s room (feeling proud that he didn’t have to surrender and ask for said directions). Trust Teep to pick the one with no windows, on top of being based all the way at the top of the building. The open door’s stoppered in place by a large Dahl ammo crate that’d contained shotgun rounds a long time ago.

This is the second time Rythian’s been inside Teep’s room. It hasn’t changed much, in terms of architecture, the walls painted a boring, practical concrete grey. He’s under the impression that Teep lived a minimalist lifestyle, given they matched him for traveling as light as possible. Nothing is kept in excess, aside from the absolute necessities.

Ever since Saberial moved in, Teep’s room has amassed a bunch of clutter that Rythian doesn’t believe is theirs. He finds it even harder to believe that they’d willingly let that sort of mess intrude on their personal living space. Teep guarded whatever’s theirs as zealously as territorial bandits keeping a strict watch of their borders. Intruders are swiftly dealt with. So far, whatever Teep kept watch over spanned from personal space, kills, any unclaimed ammo, watches, and exercising the undisputed right to claim all and any sniper rifles that they came across.

With a boot, Rythian nudges a rumpled shirt that belongs to Saberial, smiling under his scarf at the words ‘GOAT MILK?’ printed on it. He hadn’t take her to be an animal lover. That’ll soon change on Pandora.

“I thought this was your room,” Rythian observes. On the other side of the room, Teep is lifting up a sleek case for a sniper rifle onto their cot, inspecting the inside for any stray gun parts left inside of it.

> It is.

There’s no complaint from them when Rythian had expected one. He starts to pick up all the shirts left out on the floor, bundling them together into a loose ball. Might as well help out Teep, who doesn’t seem to have started cleaning up in here at all.

> Put that back.

The lid of the gun case snaps shut like the loud crack of a pistol going off in the middle of a town where duels are as rare as an albino skag.

“What, why?” Rythian continues to hang onto the ball, tossing a confused glance at Teep. Teep shoulders the case into their inventory, folding both arms over their chest.

> The two can clean up their own mess, I’m fucking sick of picking up after them.

“It’s no problem,” Rythian says, surprised by Teep’s grumpiness. Had it been anybody else’s mess but his own, he’d have booked it out of here ages ago. Since it’s Zoeya (and to some extent, Saberial included), he’ll deign to help out Teep.

“If they don’t have any clean clothes for the trip, it’s their own fault,” Teep signs. “I leave them alone for a week and this happens.” They’d probably been off to complete a contract without their boss and friend’s knowledge.

“It won’t take that long to pick up all the stuff here,” Rythian insists, tugging another shirt out from under a sagging table. This shirt is adorned with a print of a cheeseburger containing a meowing kitten sandwiched between it. Nilesy would steal in a flash if he saw it. Rythian barely spares it a second glance, adding it to his arm.

Teep strides over. In one annoyed motion, their hand knocks the stuff Rythian is holding onto the floor. “You’re not the one living with a pair of messy lesbians.”

“Really? It’s that bad?” Alright, but Rythian is going to hold out hope that this mess can and will be sorted out. Speaking as a former researcher, this sort of mess makes him want to die of secondhand embarassment.

“Have you  _ seen _ the current state of the building?” Teep leans in close to Rythian’s face to the point of Rythian seeing his own eyes reflected back at him in their tinted goggles. “And that’s only because Zoeya wants to tidy up before heading off.”

“This isn’t tidying up, this is a cleaner’s absolute nightmare straight out of hell,” Rythian mutters.

“And it’s her definition of tidying up.” Teep leans back, mollified by Rythian getting it.

“So me being late to get my gun wouldn’t have made any difference.” He’s seen messes that are substantially worse, starting with an arena floor after five rounds of nonstop slaughter. Zoeya’s laboratory might qualify as a close contender, though.

“Oh, it would have.” Teep grabs Rythian’s shoulder, wrecking whatever chances Rythian have of teleporting out without taking them along. “Because I would have let you pick up your gun without making you help us out. It’s too bad, I change my mind.”

Rythian blanches. “You can’t make me stay to help!” Cleaning up will take  _ days.  _ It’s not like he has anything to do for the rest of the week. Still, he tries to pretend that he has places to be because the thought of wading through this much stuff (Zoeya’s stuff, at that) makes him want to deal with badass stalkers instead.

He can feel Teep smirking at him from under their face wrappings. “I can, by telling Zoeya every single time you’ve ever teleported and faceplanted into a puddle.”

“Most of those were accidents! And if you do, I’ll tell her and Saberial about the time you hooked up with Minty.” Rythian is counting on Zoeya to blab to Ravs. The two will never let Teep forget it so soon in the hopes of embarrassing them.

Rythian almost teleports from how Teep’s grip on his shoulder results in their fingers digging almost down to bone regardless of his coat and shirt being in the way.

> You think I hooked up with Minty back on Elpis?

“It seemed pretty obvious.” He raises an eyebrow to disguise a wince, nearly not sounding nonchalant. Other people would have volunteered to wrangle a rakk hive while being covered in raw meat, rather than goad Teep like this.

> What makes you think I did?

Rythian’s feet swivel so that he’s staring at one of his best friends. Teep’s not punching his lights out yet so he takes it as a sign that he’s allowed to continue talking. Teep’s message contains a hint of curiosity. Once he’s satisfied that, hopefully they’ll let him go. Soon, at least. They also can’t keep up that grip forever.

“You spent an awful lot of time with her whenever I was at Tycho’s Ribs. I’m talking hours here.” Even before he can physically get the words out, a flashback is constructing itself with whatever it can latch onto. He’d thought that he’d gotten over this particular lot. Well,  _ apparently not _ .

Whether it’s a shard of a feeling (for cruel sharpness, like a razor nicking skin for the first or twentieth time), a memory (for context, to better fear his own backstabbing recall), sound (for freshening the cringing hate of recalling his own words when least convenient), every possible sensation his traitorous brain can feed the flashback (purple blood on his hands, making the gun stick to his bandages, the sweat dribbling down his smirking face,  _ revelation,  _ and the Vault had never seemed so small before, with its infinite ceilings reaching beyond the stars), and the blind  _ panic _ . 

Always the panic, over the past that he can’t shake off because trying to forget would be a profound insult to him and Teep when it’s etched into their very skin so that they can’t ever forget.

All of that makes him want to drain the contents of his flask, slip away to somewhere dark and lie down for a few hours and not move nor breathe as his brain reboots itself out of ‘everything including my brain and mind is out to get me and I am going to pretend that I am okay when I am really not but telling myself that makes me feel a little better so fucking piss off’.

Nope, not happening, he’s not revisiting those horrible memories that led to his and Teep’s downfall as Vault Hunters. Or what started the events.

He can’t have an attack  _ now _ , not while Teep is here or else they’re liable to force him to sit down and endure the flashback here. At any second, Saberial and Zoeya could wander in and bear witness to it unless Teep barricades the door shut. Either way, it’ll raise questions that he’s not ready to answer (yet).

Nanosounds was perhaps right. It’s been years, and he’s still not ready to face what he did. He doesn’t know when he’ll ever be.

The voice at the back of his mind spitefully points out that he could start by telling Teep about what he feels and that the flashback is about to hit him. Or, he can shut the fuck up and pretend that everything is okay so that he doesn’t have to put up with Teep’s sympathy. He’d sought it once. Seeking it out twice in the span of a few weeks means he’s less resilient than he’d initially thought. This kind of mental pressure is  _ nothing _ , compared to what he’d gone through years ago.

And yet, he’s been stumbling along in the hopes of finding a cure to the tightened clamp that’s always encasing his brain, seeking to loosen it. What he wants is peace of mind, without resorting to loading a gun with the specially kept bullet and lifting it up to his head.

“Zylus spotted you leaving her place.” Rythian brandishes two fingers at Teep. He’s relieved to find that his fingers or smug voice aren’t trembling. That’s it, concentrate on Teep’s gloved fingers leaving marks through his coat and shirt. His back prickles uncomfortably at how close Teep is standing. “Twice!” It’d been more than twice, especially given how long the stay at Tycho’s Ribs had been.

He protectively folds his fingers down when Teep’s other hand lashes out to bend the offending fingers out of shape. That’s not the first time they’ve broken his fingers, or tried to.

> Her new arm needed maintenance from somebody she could trust and she wanted me to have a look at her guns.

With a rustling of their hood, Teep tilts their head at the table. Rythian’s eyes follow their gaze. It’s tracked to his shotgun waiting to be collected. He’s never seen it that clean before, used to feeling all the grooves and edges being filled with dust and all manner of accumulating gunk.

Theoretically, Rythian could have taken it apart his own gun. There’s just one small problem: he doesn’t trust himself to put it back together correctly, despite having been shown how several times in the past.

“But you flirted  _ back _ !” He doesn’t like being proven wrong, especially when it comes to this sort of thing so he can keep an eye out for it. 

How could he have been so wrong as to misjudge Teep’s taste in people; in all the years that he’s known them, Teep had never expressed a preference. Ravs and Rythian acknowledged that they never needed to worry about that kind of thing whenever they visited a town. Come to think of it, Rythian had never needed to retrieve Ravs in spite of all his ‘scouting’ of the bars either. Teep preferred to remain at camp, letting Zylus, Rythian and Ravs go fetch supplies.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Ravs approached people with all the enthusiasm of someone buying a grab bag: one never knew what they’d get but hey, it’ll be great fun finding out.

> And so I did.

> Doesn’t mean it had to actually go anywhere.

> Besides, even if I did sleep with her, what makes you think I’d tell you all about it, you pervert.

“Teep, did you really sleep with her or not?” Okay, now he really wants to know. Never in a hundred years would he have guessed that Minty or Teep seemed that interested in each other. 

As the sheriff, Minty hadn’t liked that someone possessing a still active bounty was allowed to freely walk around Concordia. Teep hadn’t given much of a fuck towards their bounty. That is, until she’d implied confiscating their weapons if they raised a ruckus or harmed a citizen. Rythian would have liked to have seen her try. He had a feeling that Teep would have wholeheartedly encouraged it.

Unfortunately, Ravs hadn’t tagged along (grumbling something about not getting along with Minty either) to serve as an intermediate, resulting in no possibility of challenging Minty. That is, not if Teep and Rythian had wanted to be able to survive outside of Concordia regarding buying supplies.

Also, Minty controlled the last remaining airfield on Elpis. If they pissed her off, they could expect her to bar Zylus for assisting them leave the moon. Removing Zylus’ only means of income is also not what Teep and Rythian had originally traveled to Elpis to do.

Rythian’s a little ashamed to recall being too caught up in his explorations to frequently travel between Concordia and Tycho’s Ribs. It’d fallen on Teep to do so on their own to replenish their supplies.

In the handful of times that Rythian had gone with them, the tense conversation between the Minty and Teep consisted of trading pointed barbs and jabs at each other’s chosen occupation and every conceivable insult possible without touching on preferences or appearances (for obvious reasons).

He probably hadn’t been around when the flirting snuck in like a skag stealthily helping itself to a spiderant’s hoard. Or maybe the two’s means of flirting consisted of insulting each other. If that’s the case (and it’s different to Ravs’ flirting on the basis that his involved far less biting sarcasm), then Teep’s been flirting with everybody the whole time. Rythian sorely doubts that.

> No.

“Alright,” Rythian surrenders, because it feels like he’s about to lose a chunk of muscle from how dangerous Teep’s grip is becoming. “Please don’t deprive me of my shoulder, I actually really need it.”

> Then stop asking stupid questions and help me get this place in order.

Something in the air sidles out of the room, glad to be dismissed (with Teep’s permission). Besides, he doesn’t want to dwell on whether or not Teep is truly lying. He prefers to consider himself as one of the few people Teep didn’t feel the need to lie to, ignoring how much of a despicable hypocrite he’s being.

Clinking footsteps march sullenly towards the door. “Hey, I’m here! What do you want this time, you ingrate-” Turps storms in, scowling deeper upon seeing Rythian stepping away from Teep. “Hello,  _ Rythian _ .” Whatever Turps had been about to say is clearly being saved for later, his lip curling.

“Hello Turps,” Rythian stiffly says, curbing the addition of ‘and how are you enjoying being meriff?’ to his greeting. He wants to rub his shoulder, disguising it as sweeping his coat with a hand.

Teep folds their arms over their chest. They don’t seem that pleased to see Turps either, merely acknowledging him with a cursory glance. This move gives Rythian a petty second of satisfaction. So Teep didn’t get along with Turps either.

> Try to get along.

> I don’t want to have to shoot anybody in front of Zoeya or Saberial.

“We’ll  _ try, _ ” Turps and Rythian bitterly say at the same time. 

Far too belatedly, Rythian realises that he’s just been roped into helping to clean on the basis of annoying Turps thanks to Teep’s subtle manipulation.

\--

The shuttle (or spaceship) drifts towards one of the mining rig’s docking bay. Zylus had frowned at the granted clearance. The shield surrounding the mining rig melts away on approach that typically protected it from debris hurling through space and all other collisions, including that of approaching spaceships.

The ship drifts through the rectangular opening doubling as the entrance and exit to the bay. Zylus focuses on steering the ship sideways with the utmost of care that tells Lalna that he’s done this over a thousand times to do it in his sleep if he wanted to.

Butterflies in Lalna’s stomach begin to flap, thousands of tiny wings furiously beating against the inside of his delicate intestines. Zylus coordinates the whole affair as calmly as ever until the ship is no longer floating, locked against the platform.

“Take your time,” Zylus tells Lalna, pulling out an empty power core and some power tools. “I’ll be here waiting.”

“Will you be bored?” Lalna is not sure how to tell him that he doesn’t know how long he’ll be. Or if he ever plans on returning to Pandora. If he’s finding this difficult to bring up to Zylus, he can’t imagine doing this to the other Vault Hunters. It’s procrastinating to the worst degree, he knows.

“Don’t worry, I know how to entertain myself-” Zylus snaps his mouth shut, colouring a shade of luminescent pink at his own words. The top of his ears match his face. “Please don’t tell Ravs I said that or else I’ll never live it down.”

Lalna snickers. Not that meanly, since Zylus is shaping up to be a pretty decent person (minus his piloting skills and perchance for springing suicide missions on others). “I dunno, that was pretty funny.”

“I won’t tell Ravs you were eavesdropping if you don’t tell him about my slip of the tongue,” Zylus bargains. His blush shows no signs of fading, though his eyes have fixated on Lalna with a cunningness that Lalna associates more with people like Nilesy or Daltos.

At that, Lalna snaps his mouth shut, colouring as well. “Fine,” He unhappily concedes. Trust Zylus to hold that one over his head. Zylus acknowledges his words with a nod once they’ve stared at each other to let it known that it’s official.

Business now concluded on the shuttle, Lalna departs it in a foul mood. His foul mood vanishes once he considers the problem before him.

So far, all he’s figured out in the way of a plan is to get up to his commissioner's office to find the bastard and interrogate the prick about oh, stranding him on Pandora and being no fucking help whatsoever.

At least Larry Robert will be useful for that. The other Loaders ain’t got shit on his own- great, now he’s beginning to think like a Vault Hunter, his own ego about his abilities inflated by emerging alive from everything he’s ever been thrown into. Hurriedly, Lalna banishes that thought as he climbs out of the ship’s hatch. It remains open behind him. He can hear Zylus taking apart the power core.

The docking bay is silent. As far as Lalna knows, aside from Zylus and his commissioner, no other human being’s set foot on this mining rig. To the best of his own limited knowledge, anyway. If he’s built the mining rig right, it could be operated remotely, without any need for human input save for maintenance and ordering it where to fire. He’d also like to figure out why it’s been firing on its own; a quick trip down to the generators and command center will fix that. That’ll come later.

Throwing one last look at Zylus’ ship, Lalna exits the bay through the main door. Fifteen minutes and one elevator ride (that lasts forever) later, he ends up in the hallway leading to his boss’ lush office. The other parts of the mining rig’s become dusty. It’s probably all part of a contrived plan to prank him by dumping all the vacuum bags in his room once all the cleaning bots are done gathering every speck.

Here goes nothing. Not sure what to expect, he lifts his hand, knocking once. The knock echoes along the barren hallway, sounding like someone’s dropped a tool onto the floor. Perhaps nobody’s in and he can go? Lalna prepares to leave for his room next once he’s ECHOed the asshole for the sixty-third time in several months.

“Come in!” A voice invites. It’s one that Lalna has never heard before. In the back of his mind, a bell is ringing with all the determination of an alarm bell detecting a blaze, returning him to an ah-ha moment in the Dust where a determined wrench lobbed by a burly mechanic met an innocent ECHOnet set and sent it flying off its tower.

The door parts with a prompt swish. He steps in, forfeiting everything he’d been preparing to say in favor of staring.

There is a blue-suited figure standing with their back to the door. Eyes coolly regard Pandora through the massive window that eight rakks flying in line could have flown through. Hands are clasped behind their back, fingers loosely held together. Ginger hair, possessing an orange hue is neatly combed back. Lalna glimpses a curled mustache and beard that’d belong in a high-end fashion magazine. This is not the person he’d been expecting to find.

“Who are you?” Lalna blurts, prepared to make a mad dash to the elevator if they demonstrate any hostility. From there, he’ll just have to hope that the lift is still present. After that, he has no idea, ignoring that all the lifts could be disabled from this office with a single button press.

The person revolves on the spot with a calmness that’s at odds with Lalna’s internal state of barely controlled panic. Sweat’s already running down the small of his back, slicking his forehead and palm as well. Every nerve of his is primed for the slightest hint of danger and each of them are prepared to take matters into their own hands.

It’ll probably involve murder.

“I’m Sjin.” Sjin turns. A warm smile is flashed at Lalna. It’s probably meant to put him at ease. He doesn’t trust that smile, not one bit. That sort of smile is on par with corporations accepting generous donations to weasel their way out of whatever trouble they’d gotten into. “Please, have a seat.” A welcoming hand motions to a couple of waiting chairs.

Lalna refuses to step any closer, edging back towards the door. The door’s closed but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t kick it down or send Larry Robert out. His fingers subconsciously curl around the embedded digistruct module in his metal hand, a silent threat of its own. Perhaps knowing what Lalna’s thinking (or suspecting as much), Sjin continues to smile.

“Where’s Ridgedog?” Lalna grounds out, mimicking Rythian’s edged tone. Aware that it’s not going to achieve anything outside of making him seem on guard, it’s still a comfort. It feels like Rythian’s backing him up; he also likes to think that Rythian wouldn’t tolerate missing employers, no matter how much of an asshole they are.

Ridgedog is nowhere to be found. Wherever Lalna looks, traces of the bastard’s presence remain in the office. There’s the glass case filled with old Atlas trophies and memorabilia, as befitting the current head of Hyperion’s R and D’s need to lord it over fallen rivals. The selfie housed in a frame of ten centimetre thick solid gold is currently face down on the desk.

Designer body modification tech wait their turns to be inspected, all dust-free and gleaming, resting on their stands around the room. Ridgedog had incessantly bragged about a personal involvement in the project for those, merely scoffing at Lalna’s observation at maybe that a modification addiction could be affecting the project. He hadn’t wanted to think too much about what’s underneath Ridgedog’s suit (or the idiot’s skin, if any still remained after all the incorporations).

Not to mention the books housed in the numerous shelves stacked against the wall. Each are actual books, filled with proper paper pages. Enough of them are overflowing the shelves to make Rythian die of pure envy. A significant portion are about the long lost aliens, the Eridians, a subject that’d never been interesting to Lalna. He supposes that it  _ might _ be of interest to a Vault Hunter who isn’t busy being occupied with  _ not dying _ .

Otherwise, Sjin could have very well just waltzed in and took up his position by the window at Ridgedog’s request. He acts like he’s naturally supposed to be here, almost like the whole place belongs to  _ him _ and Lalna feels like shooting him in the head because it _ doesn’t _ .

“Sick leave,” Sjin informs Lalna with a calmness that tells Lalna that Sjin is an extraordinary liar or he’s telling nothing but the truth. Except, Lalna knows fully well that Ridgedog is not the kind of person who’d let a tiny cold stand in the way of progress. He’s waiting for the part where Ridgedog jumps out from behind a bookcase and hollers ‘psyche!’ with an idiotic grin plastered on their face.

“That’s bullshit!” Lalna shouts, doubting himself and doubting Sjin. This is not the time to develop a divided mind. With an effort that leaves him almost drained of energy to remain on guard, Lalna’s forced to convince himself that Sjin is telling the truth.

Sjin’s eyes flick from the floor back up to Lalna. Several levels below them is the medical bay, docks, command centre and whatever fucking else forms the other layers because Lalna’s scared and when he’s scared, his world narrows to whatever’s in front of him. Despite his arm malfunctioning a couple of times since he began work on the rig, he’s never visited the medical bay (since it also reminded him too much of a certain surgeon).

“I’ve been appointed as a stand-in until Ridge feels better.” Sjin shortening Ridgedog’s name irks Lalna. What right does he have to act like he personally knows the asshole? Ridgedog’s never mentioned Sjin, as far as Lalna’s memories can stretch of dealing with the prick. Sjin hadn’t given any hints as to when Ridgedog will recover or return.

“I don’t believe you!” Knowing an obvious lie when he hears one (having told far too many of his own), Lalna reaches for The Bane with the intent of bluffing his way out of here.

Can he make it back to Zylus in time if he convinces Sjin to let him out? Although, committing murder or nearly doing so in the place he’d intended to retreat to feels so incredibly wrong, like vandalising one church in the name of stopping all worship.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Sjin says, hurt briefly flickering in his gaze. His gaze shifts to imploring, making him seem friendlier and less of a threat. “But I have a proposal for you, Lalna. Why don’t you hear me out?” A pause lets Sjin step towards the desk, a prepared hand hovering over the seamless meld of wood and metal there. “Unless you’re a real bandit and prefer to shoot first and ask questions later?” 

Of course Sjin wouldn’t prefer to be shot. Lalna wouldn’t want to be shot either, unless he does anything that he can’t redeem himself from.

Also, how did Sjin know his  _ name _ ? Lalna’s eyes flick over to the console that’s part of the desk.

If Sjin’s been here for months now, he’d have trawled through nearly all of Ridgedog’s files. Implications (each of them promising dire consequences) creep into Lalna’s mind. It’s escorted by the stomach twisting dread that everything about this is so very wrong and Lalna doesn’t know what to do, short of killing Sjin and hope that the problem will fix itself.

No, Lalna is not as bad as the other Vault Hunters or bandits that roamed Pandora’s landscape. He proves that by lowering his hand, caution weighing his movements. It’s to hear that Sjin has to say. If he doesn’t like it, he can always leave. Sjin can’t possibly stop him.

“I’m not a bandit or a Vault Hunter,” Lalna says but it sounds hollow, lacking any conviction whatsoever. He’s not either of those, no matter what he’s done on Pandora.

“Excellent, I knew you would, being the reasonable person that you are.” Sjin takes a seat in Ridgedog’s high-backed office chair, his cuff links clinking. A pleased smile makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. It reminds Lalna of a grinning stalker having cornered its next meal and intends to toy with it a bit. “Please, come closer, I’d like you to be able to see this.” At all the wariness appearing on Lalna’s face, Sjin laughs, lightly adding in a reassuring voice, “Don’t worry, I’m not up to anything nefarious, I just have a small favor to ask of you.”

Lalna manages to force his feet to take a series of quick steps over so that he’s standing by the desk. He tries to ignore the place on the wooden portion that’s darker than the rest of it.

A tap of the console causes a screen between him and Sjin to spring to life. If Lalna hadn’t known an invisible screen existed in front of Sjin’s face, he’d have leapt back in surprise. The screen enlarges when Sjin’s fingers pull it out along a corner so that Lalna can see what’s being shown.

It’s Rythian.

And yet, it’s not the Rythian that Lalna knows and travels with, on a daily basis. This is a Rythian who hadn’t yet become familiar with Pandora’s way of life, his young, tanned face lit up by the sunlight falling on him. His handsome face is free of the old scars that mar his chin and mouth. His blue eyes are lit up with emotion, and optimistic hope, at that. They’re nothing at all like the world-weary, dark ringed set that Lalna associates with his own, older version of Rythian. Young Rythian is laughing at the photographer, a hand stretched out to tug the camera away.

His dark brown hair’s neatly brushed back, only to stick up at his neck from the relentless wind blowing through the desert. The black and red armband wrapped around his biceps reads ‘ATLAS R AND D DIVISION’. 

Rythian’s only personal customisation to the outfit is the bunched up purple scarf nearly falling off his shoulders. A bunch of people, also laughing along and sporting the same armband fill the background behind him.

Something inside Lalna’s chest twists, making him turn to face Sjin. Lalna knows he’s got the most wretched look on his face at that second.

Sjin’s smile widens a fraction, mistaking his action for asking a question that Lalna never asked. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble I went to digging up this incredibly valuable photo in Atlas’ dead archives. It was the only one I could extract. Rythian did a good job in purging all the records but he didn’t do a good enough job.” Sjin lets out a condescending chuckle. “Fortunately, he must have been feeling awfully sentimental at the time to let this remain.” It’d been all that Sjin had needed for whatever he’s planning. Oh, _Rythian_.

“Why are you showing me this?” Lalna doesn’t get what Sjin is up to, holding off whatever his mind’s trying to foist on him what Sjin wants him to do.

Sjin expands the photo, the view zooming in on Rythian’s scarf (currently lacking its tattered and hole-ridden appearance) to zoom in on it. Lalna doesn’t spot it until his eyes snap to where a shadow is being cast beneath the scarf.

Right under a purple fold, almost hidden, is the trinket dangling on its cord. It’s not the trinket as Lalna knows it.

In the photo, it’s shaped like an upside down, slightly sloping inwards ‘V’ ringed within a black circle. It’s barely bigger than Lalna’s thumbnail, as thick as the thinnest, luxury data pads. He has a slight feeling that even if he dropped it into the hottest of lava, the trinket wouldn’t have melted.

“This is a very special item that I’d like you to steal for me,” Sjin explains, watching Lalna for his reaction.

Lalna lies to himself that he’s the one in control here. Sjin is just a posturing man using resources that don’t belong to him. Lalna is armed with guns and a military programmed robot. It’s pretty fucking clear who’d win if a fight broke out in this room.

“Why do you want it?” His mouth’s gone dry, having nothing to do with the last time he’d drank from his canteen being an hour ago. He doesn’t risk taking his eyes off Sjin, especially since he doesn’t trust the cuff links Sjin’s wearing. They’re almost like Will Strife’s digistruct modules disguised as cuff links.

“Let’s not get bogged down by the semantics,” Sjin easily dismisses, leaning forwards. “What if I offer you a way home if you bring me the trinket?” Sjin fans a palm out with a casual flick of his wrist. When Lalna blinks, there is a yellow, white and black patterned envelope held between two manicured fingers. A black ‘H’ is neatly stamped across the corner. “And I know Vault Hunters  _ love  _ rewards.”

_ Home.  _ The word squeezes Lalna’s heart, almost as much as seeing the photo of young Rythian.

“No,” He hears himself say. It’s distant, like having somebody else use his voice and he’s standing at the very back of his own mind, not wanting to be here, talking to someone who is asking him to betray his-

“No? Are you sure?” Sjin frowns, toying with the envelope, deftly flicking it between his fingers. It moves towards the chest pocket of his jacket. Lalna’s eyes follow it, raking along Sjin’s chest like he can make him bleed with his gaze alone. “What about your parents? They’re awfully worried about the both of you.” Sjin’s sly smile is back in place so smoothly that Lalna almost thinks he’s been practicing for this exact moment. “I’ll even throw in an extra ticket for your twin, just to make the trip easier.”

Whatever had been Ridgedog’s is now in Sjin’s possession, including whatever knowledge Ridgedog had about Lalna. If it’s exactly as Lalna suspects, that includes knowing that Lalnable is now on Pandora.

Lalna is definitely not the same bright-eyed, curious young man who left home to put his talents with machines to better use. He’s a murderer, a bandit, failed treasure hunter and adventurer. What kind of adventurer got homesick  _ before _ they began the journey?

If he takes up Sjin’s offer, he’ll never see Pandora (or Rythian, Nanosounds, Will Strife, Ravs and everyone he’s ever met) ever again. He finds that he isn’t as thrilled with that notion, just as he is with Sjin’s generous offer.

The offer probably has a catch to it. When Lalna stares at Sjin’s friendly, expectant face, it’s then that he knows that there’s no point to asking about it. Sjin’s already told him, and it’s the worst one that he could have come up with in asking Lalna to carry out. Why hide it when the deed itself is the catch?

“Take your time, there’s no rush,” Sjin reassures. He carefully lowers the envelope onto the polished desk in full view of Lalna, steepling his hands as he waits for Lalna to arrive at the only possible decision.

Half an hour later, Zylus hears dragging footsteps traveling through the open hatch. He glances up, spotting Lalna enter the spaceship. It must be the ship’s terrible lighting because Lalna looks like he’s seen a ghost. With a zombie-like shuffle, Lalna flops into a seat, his hands fiddling with one another.

“Lalna, is everything okay?” Zylus asks. 

He’d spent several minutes contemplating his threat to tell Ravs about Lalna eavesdropping, concluding that it’d been a dick move on his part. He still sticks to the belief that it’d been necessary if he wants Ravs to not mercilessly tease him about making his own accidental innuendo for the rest of their short lives. It’s provided that Lalna keeps his mouth shut or the deal’s canceled.

At the sound of his name being called, Lalna’s head snaps up. “Huh? Oh, yeah, everything’s good,” He distractedly replies, gaze shifting back to the window.

Zylus goes on to generously offer, “I can take you here again in a couple of weeks, depending on the weather and how much fuel I got left over.” That’ll make up for the move, he feels.

“It’s nice of you to offer, but no, I’m fine.” That hadn’t been exactly what Zylus had been asking but Zylus can tell that Lalna would prefer to be left in peace. He almost asks about whatever’s troubling him, choosing to sit down in the cockpit and begin takeoff.

He’s been in Lalna’s position enough times to know when to lay off on the questions and let someone have their space.

\--

Landing on Pandora occurs in reverse. Zylus begins by taking the ship down low at a speed that wouldn’t tarnish the ship’s exterior. Once it’d breached the atmosphere and is descending towards T-Bone Junction, he calls the workerbots to action. Lalna had closed his eyes, wishing over and over that the process would hurry up because he’s about to faint again from how fast the ship’s dropping.

Clouds brush the ship’s wingtips as the spaceship homes in on the runway. Laughing again, Zylus activates the landing gear. The grasping launch mechanisms latch onto the landing gear once the ship is brought down low enough for the underside to scrape along the highway.

The ship’s gradually pulled down below T-Bone Junction. Worker bots tail behind the ship, diligently disassembling the runway in its wake like loving caretakers putting away toys left out in a nursery. In no time flat, the highway’s restored. Anybody passing by T-Bone Junction wouldn’t have known that the highway doubles as a runway based on appearances alone.

Ravs is waiting in front of Zylus’ home to greet a grinning Zylus and a ruffled Lalna. Not wanting them to be concerned by his current wide-eyed and spooked appearance, Lalna excuses himself from the resulting conversation, trudging towards the Fast Travel Station. A Loader watches Lalna go.

“He must hate Fast Travel,” Ravs concludes, questioningly glancing at Zylus.

“I hope he’s alright,” Zylus says, frowning slightly. “He didn’t talk much on the way back.” Something had happened in the time between Lalna leaving the spaceship and returning. He can’t imagine what, though, not being as familiar with Lalna as Rythian or the other Vault Hunters are. They’ll help Lalna.

“It’s probably your flying that did it,” Ravs teases.

“My flying is fine!” Zylus indignantly says. In a lower voice, he asks Ravs, “Is Daltos okay?”

“Sleeping,” Ravs says, not bothering to hide the affectionate note that’s crept into his voice. “I checked up on him a couple of times and he hasn’t woken up yet.” Ravs leans closer to Zylus. They’re matching in height so Ravs ends up peering closely at Zylus’ face, searching for answers. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing.” Zylus sighs, rubbing at his eye. It hadn’t been him (though occasionally, he’ll take that back) who'd inflicted the initial wounds. “He was like that when the Vault Hunters brought him to me.”

“If I were you, I’d figure out fast how to deal with him before he gets better,” Ravs softly advises. “You two aren’t going to be happy for long once he’s back on his feet-”

“Thanks for your concern, but I can handle it, Ravs,” Zylus apologetically interrupts.

“Funny, Daltos said pretty much the same thing.” Ravs draws back in a way that suggests that he’s not going to let the matter go that easily. He shrugs. “Well, I’m off. Drop by Sanctuary Hole for a drink later on. It’d be good for you two to get out a little more.”

“Thanks again for doing this,” Zylus bids.

Ravs grins. “It’s been an absolute  _ pleasure _ . I hope Daltos liked it as well.” Disappointingly, Zylus patiently shuts his eyes for a few seconds, reminding Ravs of Rythian attempting to ignore Ravs’ ECHO icon.

If Zylus and Daltos don’t show up to Sanctuary Hole in a month’s time, Ravs is Fast Traveling back here to drag them both to the Crooked Caber. He’s well prepared to deal with any kicking and screaming that might ensue.

“Will do.” Zylus waves at Ravs’ back. The Loader that’d been watching Lalna troops over to Zylus’ side. Together, the two watch the blue light from the activating Fast Travel Station fade into the background. 

> That went well.

On Pandora, sunset lasted for hours, a spectacle that Zylus rarely got to enjoy. Recent events have detracted from whatever small pleasures in life that he found comfort in. “Bebop?”

> Yes Zylus?

“Why did you copy yourself into Larry Robert?” Their former superiors basically had to order BebopVox to let themself be copied. And every single time, BebopVox had put up a massive fight. It’d baffled the A.I. technicians. Said technicians had never quite pinned down the source of the supposed ‘glitch’ causing that tendency to initially arise. Last Zylus heard, BebopVox’s progeny never possessed that tendency either. It’s just BebopVox.

While A.I.’s aren’t inclined to lie, BebopVox proved alarmingly fast to learn that lying to the diagnostics allowed them to dodge being forcibly removed and disposed of.

They’d randomly confessed that to Zylus during their travels across Pandora with him (and to an extent, a Ravs, Teep and Rythian who’d been unaware of their presence). Further coaxing revealed that BebopVox didn’t actually ever want to die and leave an unhappy Zylus all alone. It made Zylus resolve to live, in spite of the circumstances he found himself getting thrown into.

Also, it wasn’t that copying degraded BebopVox with every process. BebopVox simply didn’t like it, nursing a resentment for the request that rivalled their adoration of cheesy ECHOnet soap operas. 

For BebopVox to curb their dislike for someone as unfamiliar as Lalna makes Zylus wonder if BebopVox is up to something. Then again, BebopVox is always up to something, whether it’s running the town in his absence or maintaining watch. He’s actually glad that BebopVox isn’t overly malicious in their interactions on his behalf. They preferred good old-fashioned honesty.

> Is it not customary for a parent to send their ‘child’ out to see the world, even if they themself aren’t capable of the journey?

At the message, Zylus sharply glances at BebopVox occupying a Loader body. It’s extremely unusual for BebopVox to dodge a question, as rare as a rakk egg that’s cracked open and is containing two yolks.

> I gave my ‘child’ an opportunity that was never offered to me.

“You never had a choice to begin with.” Yet another reason why Zylus dislikes Dahl; Dahl treated A.I.’s like subservient beings, neither worthy of respect or praise. Daltos and Zylus had talked about it, late one night when BebopVox had copied themself. 

They two had agreed to not to uphold that any longer, choosing to interact with BebopVox as fellow crew members rather than a commanding officer ordering a subordinate (who had to follow every given command, no matter what) about.

> I do now.

> I also lacked any earlier means of implementation.

> I hope my ‘child’ will have many stories to tell once I see them again.

“And I hope you made a good decision in sending them with the right Vault Hunter.” Zylus sends along a message to Ravs to keep an eye on Lalna and Larry Robert. It wouldn’t do for BebopVox to experience the loss of their ‘child’ so soon, nor would Zylus want Lalna to suffer either. He’d seen how much Lalna cared for the machine, finding it rather touching.

That said, Zylus doesn’t ask how BebopVox is quietly confident that they’ll see their ‘child’ again. Knowing BebopVox, they’ve probably run thousands of simulations beforehand. He can trust that they made the decision while being aware of all the sheer consequences. 

All he can hope is that they can live with it, as people had to once they’ve carried it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to teagstime and doublearrows for being fantastic listeners as always. this chapter also couldn’t have happened without siins, so thank you <3
> 
> this ramble is going to be somewhat serious, especially regarding ridgedog. myself and siins are aware of ridgedog’s past actions irl. at the time of this au’s creation, we’d already planned on including him, though not in the manner that people generally expected. it’s worth reiterating that irl doesn’t equate to the character created as part of borderlandscast. 
> 
> as stated before in a [tumblr](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/post/142846430889/an-announcement-of-sorts) post regarding certain yogs’ (current and former members) actions and behaviour, we completely understand if anybody chooses to unfollow or stop reading the story after this chapter. if you’d like to stick around in spite of that, thank you. he won’t be mentioned again until later chapters since this is the maximum extent of his involvement as a character.
> 
> to clarify, yes, ridgedog has been long dead. it happened before the events of the first chapter of ‘tlvh’. that means i’ve been sitting on this reveal for over a year now. it feels good to reveal it, along with hustling along the main plot. ridgedog himself will never be written part of any upcoming ‘btb’ or ‘tlvh’ fic, nor will his profile ever be fully completed. you can check that profile out once it’s uploaded. i’m probably joking about his profile. i am also very tired. as for whether or not ridgedog (as he currently is) is still relevant to the main plot, you’ll just have to wait and see.
> 
> that said, sjin was and always will be the main antagonist (though whether or not sjin believes that he’s the real villain here is another matter). that was what was originally planned and that won’t change, since you know, we’re past the halfway point and changing stuff now would really throw a wrench into all the planning (upcoming and past).
> 
> on a different note, all the past few chapters have been leading up to this very moment where sjin offers lalna the deal of a lifetime. did lalna accept the deal or not? i’ll leave it up to you as to whether or not you think he did.
> 
> rythian’s ptsd is fast approaching the point where he knows that he badly needs help but in true rythian style, he is going to continue dragging his heels. i did do a little thinking about what would have happened if he’d opened up about it to teep in that scene. teep would have probably foisted tea on rythian, locked the door, then sat him down and listened to everything rythian ever wanted to tell them without judging or saying anything until he’s done, because that’s what friends do. 
> 
> that’s not to say that teep is exempt from their own problems; as per ‘a bullet with your name on it’, teep has been dealing with their own issues for a longer period of time and knows how to deal with it. the thing about mental health is that you’re never alone but your brain can sure as hell make it feel like you are. the difference between teep and rythian is that teep knew that they wouldn’t have survived without telling someone. that’s one reason why ravs and teep are particularly close; ravs will always keep his door open for teep and he’ll also do so for anybody who needs someone to just listen. 
> 
> this stems from ravs fundamentally believing that the world isn’t such a bad place overall; there’s just rough patches between the good parts of life. and some of those can feel like that they last forever. as a former illiterate bandit (with a bounty matching teep’s) before he realised that he’s contributing in part to a crapsaccharine world? ravs knows that a bit of compassion can make a really big fucking difference, especially to someone’s life. he sometimes wishes he’d had that revelation sooner.
> 
> the really sad part is that rythian knows that people are there for him. he just has to get around to picking up the nerve to knock first.
> 
> this has been your obligatory ramble. thank you for reading and thank you, for all the support so far. the doodles are located over here in the [tag](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/borderlandscast%3A-the-last-vault-hunter), done by the delightful siins as usual.


	11. A Homecoming To Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter features lots of bangs and whams! you may proceed happily through this chapter expecting all those, plus the occasional explosion. that’s about it for warnings.

Back when digistruct technology had first been unearthed, people hadn’t known what to make of it. It’d been stumbled upon by accident, as is the case for most serendipitous, life-changing discoveries. Unless it involves a colorful plastic brick with corners guaranteed to result in head shaped hole in the ceiling when a blissfully ignorant bare foot inevitably found the only toy brick lurking in a mile of plush carpet.

Fortunately, instead of the toy brick, what people got was the discovery of a century, or whatever it is that a collective thousand years is called. Someone (or  _ someones _ , because history could be incredibly murky about giving credit where it’s due) found out that one could cram a startling amount of objects into a near-infinite space the size of a palm-sized slab. 

One had the mysterious aliens, the Eridians, to thank for that. The Eridians had mastered the art long ago, placing it within their constructs, relics and weapons. Name one item of Eridian origin and 99% of the time, it probably ran off digistruct tech. 

Predictably, humans gleefully snatched up the idea without any consideration whatsoever, and mass-produced it on a galactic scale.

Not too long after the first units appeared on shelves, people wondered if they could rig the system to teleport items. After all, if an item could be housed in a space that defied the laws of all known  _ human _ physics, could the item be moved elsewhere through space? As usual, Eridians remained unclear on the matter and continued to be, given that they’re all presumably dust particles.

Extensive (and secretive) testing revealed that yes, an item could be reliably moved to another location, provided the connection remained stable the entire time between Point A and Point B. The failed results indicated that yes, it was also possible to destroy or mutilate an item whenever the connection randomly dropped out or was forcibly redirected for whatever reason.

These basic observations hold true, especially if the item in question is a living human. The dead didn’t have much to say on the matter, for obvious reasons. Interestingly, the scientists overseeing the  _ failed  _ experiments were explicit about preferring public transport from that point on.

So, the corporations ensured that it was in their best interests that a Fast Travel Network never, ever, dropped out. It’s one of the few subjects that they all agreed on (the others being that Tediore coffee is the worst substance to grace the six galaxies next to slag runoff, and weapon design licenses being free game so long as nobody sued after midnight).

The monetary equivalent to make several planetary empires rise (and fall) have been invested in this ambitious venture. Suffice to say, the corporations generally succeeded on that front. However, the connection between Point A to Point B is limited by distance, deteriorating  _ over _ space. Inconveniently, time drifted in and out of the picture. That’s all fine and dandy if one is hopping from one pole to another; time didn’t prove to be a major concern when travel’s confined to one planet.

Otherwise, that’s not handy if one is on a planet and would like to travel to another planet that’s located in another galaxy. The cost for maintaining the galaxies wide network is, pun not intended, astronomical. The long distance Fast Travel Stations experienced frequent use from the wealthiest patrons, typically those of corporate background or shadier characters who pretended to be the former.

People could be very vocal about what happened to any parts of themselves or anybody (anybody of value, that is) that vanished when the connection dropped. It’s in the corporation’s interests to sit up and listen, in regards to preventing any accidents that might end any mutual relationships with benefactors.

If one relationship involves dealing with a known Siren, the corporations licked their pencils, smiled and sweetly offered to perform maintenance free of charge, just please  _ stay away _ from their head offices. The fruit baskets are also free, don’t you worry, we’ll have that network up and running again in no time flat!

Nanosounds wishes that she hadn’t eaten all that skag jerky before taking the Fast Travel Network. Once one got past the salty, tasting vaguely of ‘breath post-hangover’ meat, skag jerky’s rather filling because no other food took literal hours to digest.

Food could be iffy about staying in a stomach if it’s being shuffled, bit by bit, over a hundred thousand light years. It’d certainly  _ felt _ like a hundred thousand light years to her. Her ECHO device could probably tell her the actual distance between Hecate and Pandora. If she really wanted to, she could look. Alas, she shuffles off the plate bolted to the floor of the platform so that the next arrival doesn’t bump into her.

She lifts her head as Will Strife stumbles forwards. The afterglow from the Fast Travel’s already fading from his immaculately suited figure. He too, is disoriented from being transported across space (and quite possibly time as well), lagging only a few seconds behind her. His face is scrunched up from his brain wrestling with being temporarily disembodied.

“And _ this _ is why I don’t use this network as much,” He gasps, sucking in lungfuls of fresh air. It’d felt like he’d been squeezed and forced through a pipe the size of his wrist. Doubling over eases the hideous rush of blood to the head, a temporary known side effect of extended Fast Travel.

“Suck it up and walk it off, Strife,” Nanosounds says, grinning. Her grin’s not as confident as she’d like, working on whether or not the jerky’s staying put in her gut. Gee, if this is what Lalna’s been dealing with, she’s regretting making fun of him for all those times he’d ever looked like wanting to puke post Fast Traveling.

“You first,” He retorts, shuddering as the last of the nausea wanders off, deciding that he’s not worth the trouble of harassing today. Straightening up, Will’s eyes are yanked up to Hecate’s sky.

The sky’s rendered a deep shade of dusky purple that reminded Will Strife of a certain Vault Hunter’s scarf, of bubbling, leaking extraction pipes dripping toxic slag, or new bruises that still throbbed at the touch after a fight. A mess of orange streaks paint the tattered clouds in a burning sunset that almost sear his eyes. The sun’s rays are diluted by all the cloud cover, a pleasant warmth on Will’s face. In this quadrant of the galaxy, the sun’s presence here isn’t as domineering or harmful.

Underneath all that stretch of sky is an empty beach, the ever restless ocean reflecting the sky’s unusual hue. If he wanted to, he could reach the beach in less than a minute by sprinting (and probably fall flat on his face as the loose dunes cascade out from under his feet).

The beach would also wreck his suit in less than a second flat, flaying it with sand, seaweed and dried up husks of shelled sea creatures. No thanks. He’ll stay on the platform instead, and enjoy the beach from afar.

So, this is Hecate. His impression of the place is a mysterious world veiled by a persisting dusk. Here, the sun took hours to drift below the horizon, rivalling Pandora’s own patient transition into a lengthy evening.

Situated between the inner and outer worlds, Hecate is particularly famous as a tourist destination because of its convenient location. It also boasts proud ownership by at least two megacoporations who tolerated each other’s presences. If Will had to describe it, it’d be like a stalker and a skag staring each other down to see who’d blink and get eaten as a result. Thus, the planet generally remained free of strife (until now, heh).

Their presences aren’t that detrimental. The megacorporations invested billions to make Hecate a memorable (and profitable) place. The universities based here had been Will’s second choice. In the end, he’d gone with the cheapest one on Hermes by default. Other bits of trivia about Hecate bump into one another in Will’s head, idle facts that didn’t help his trepidation about arriving. He’s really doing this, then.

“Strife!” Nanosounds says, shouting to be heard over the distant slap of waves lapping at the shore.

“What?” He straightens up, turning to find the direction of her voice.

“Turn around and you’ll see my house!”

Will Strife’s obedient feet shuffle, turning his whole body in the opposite direction, away from the beach. His mouth drops. A glassy gravel path connects the beach up to a building that’d have made a turbomansion give up its classification.

It’s not a mansion he’s looking at, it’s a constructed majesty of a masterpiece. It modestly sits on a hill overlooking the beach. Marble white extensions trail off it, all angled towards the beach. Calling it a ’mansion’ would be an insult of epic proportions to the architect and the owner.

Nanosounds is already jogging up the path, laughing at his gobsmacked expression. Will drags his feet into motion, causing a few pebbles (likely made from recycled glass sanded into their desired form) to roll away.

How much did she say that it’d cost to get the two of them here? 14 million, and double that. Will’s brain effortlessly squeezes out the math for how long it’d take him to pay off a bill of that size. 

He’d have to sell off all his non-essential organs, bank his blood daily until he couldn’t, sell off his fledgling consulting company, his assets and everything (including clothes, personal belongings, apartment, tech, turret), and it still wouldn’t be enough to make a sizeable dent in the bill.

He should have thought harder about what Nanosounds does for a living. What he’s personally heard from her isn’t even scratching the surface. While they’d talked about the shared perils of business, conversation never broached each other’s well, personal business. 

Pruned exotic shrubs (long, flowering and twisting vines rustling in the breeze) line the path. The glass pebbles clack under his shoes with the sound of colliding marbles. It reminds him of a pool game in session.

All the sand bordering the path transitions to blue-green blades of grass. It brings to mind algae blooms spreading across a lake. Not a single blade of springy grass is an inch too high, sheared to perfection. When Will casts a sideways glance at the lawn, he expects to see a ‘STAY OFF THE GRASS’ sign posted.

Nanosounds continues to bound ahead of him, evidently pleased to be home. Will’s stitches have stitches once he’s joined her on the back door’s porch. The actual stitches Lalnable had sewn into his skin are holding; they’ll dissolve any day now, which he’ll be glad about. Clearly he needs to get back into shape following the Digistruct Peak slash Lynchwood incident.

The back porch overlooks sporting a whole garden and entertainment area. With one look, he can tell that it’s maintained even without the incoming presence of guests.

An ornate fountain gushes foaming water from a statue of a crouching lady. Flowering vines encase the lady’s vase, the way they grow on the stone bearing a resemblance to a certain Siren. Will resists tossing a coin in for good luck. He has a gut feeling that he’ll end up needing all the luck he can get here. Already, he’s feeling exceptionally out of place, even in his best suit.

The back door has a doorbell that Nanosounds presses. It relays a single, discrete note. Here, even the doorbell sounded  _ fancy _ .

As for whether Nanosounds is truly happy to be home or is just glad to get away from the madness that’s Pandora, Will can’t say. She’d certainly deemed coming here important enough to change into a business suit. It puts his to shame.

It just makes it more glaringly obvious that Will doesn’t belong here. 

Still, she dubs him as a friend in spite of that, a sentiment that Will is more than glad to return. That hasn’t stopped her from caring about him or vice versa. Pandora had worked its strange magic on them.

“So, why’d you bring me here again?” He casually inquires as they’re waiting for the back door to be answered.

“Because Lalna dresses like a teenager who’s never looked at a colour wheel, and Rythian is out of the question because can you seriously imagine Rythian in a suit?” Nanosounds says all of that in a dry voice that makes Will pause for a second to imagine.

“No, I really can’t, actually.” Well, he can. It’s just imagining Rythian wearing a suit with any expression other than utter disdain is what’s giving him trouble.

“And there you have it. So, really, you’re here by my very sound process of elimination,” Nanosounds says, her playful smile making Will chuckle.

“Whatever happened to dressing nicely?” He pretends to splutter out of indignation.

“I was just tricking you,” She sweetly says.

“I am  _ offended _ that I genuinely thought that you said I looked good, no matter what I wore,” Will huffs, theatrically tossing his head and crossing his arms over his chest. His sunglasses resettle on his forehead, thankfully staying put.

“It’s not my fault that you’re so easily flattered into going places.” Nanosounds rolls her eyes at his drama queen act.

“Oh, you take that back now, missy-” Will shuts up right as the back door opens. He doesn’t have the self-conscience to feel any guilt for letting his mouth run on auto-pilot.

The oldest, wizened person that Will has ever seen in his whole (short) life squints at Nanosounds through a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. A delicate chain links the spectacles to a breast pocket of a suit (like a flightless icebird, Will idly thinks).

“Nanosounds, is that you?” The figure wheezes in a papery, reedy voice. A wrinkled hand shakily rises to push the spectacles higher up their bent nose. Once their vision focuses properly, the figure lets out a gasping cry of joy, hurrying forward to hug her. “It is! It’s been  _ months _ since you left, we’ve all been worried sick…”

“Billy!” Nanosounds has to lean down to hug Billy, her muscles bunching as to not snap them in half with her strength. Billy’s almost lifted off their feet, their face split in a toothy grin. 

Will hangs back, not sure what to do or say, lest he interrupt the joyous reunion like a sudden fall of rain at an outdoors garden party in full swing.

“My dear, do put me down, my knees aren’t what they used to be,” Billy whispers. “It’s wonderful to see you, absolutely wonderful.”

“Billy, it’s only been a few months.” Nanosounds lowers Billy onto their loafers, treating them like a priceless statue that’d crack when it met the ground too fast.

“To everyone else, it feels like years,” Billy delicately says with a sniff. A shuffle brings them back over the doorstep. Will almost wants to reach out to help them up over the threshold, Billy’s hands shaking as they grasp the door handle for leverage. “Please, everyone’s been waiting for you to come back, ever since you responded to madam’s invite…”

Will misses the rest of that, given that Billy’s swallowed by the house. Nanosounds looks back at Will, her eyes sparkling. “Come on in, and don’t worry about wiping your feet!”

Just in case, Will drags his soles three times on the welcome mat. Once that’s done, he permits himself to follow her inside. The mat’s one of those that shucked the soles of his shoes clean. It’d likely cost him an arm and a leg.

“And this must be Will Strife,” Billy observes, locking the back door. “I am Billy, this household’s humble butler, steward, host or whatever it pleases you to call me.” 

A low, stiff bow causes Billy’a body to curve like an archer’s bow being drawn until they rise out of it. Watching Billy come out of a bow is mesmerising because it’s a lot like watching a clockwork figure move after being wound up.

Right, so here’s a butler. Will’s opinion of how well-off Nanosounds is skyrockets. It’d have been capable of blowing off the roof of the whole building.

On the outside, he settles for a charming smile. “Pleased to meet you.” Will extends a polite hand (hoping that Billy won’t mind his ruined cuticles from weeks of roughing it). Shaking Billy’s vein withered hand is like touching a piece of velvet so sheer that Will expects to find that he’s holding a piece of it when the handshake ends.

“Is Caff here? Or Chrissa?” Nanosounds inquires a few seconds after the introduction. She’d been peering down the hall, frowning.

“Caff and Chrissa are busy attending to important matters. They’ll return once that’s concluded,” Billy informs her.

“And my Mother?” There it is, again, the word ‘mother’ with a capital ‘M’. In comparison to before, Nanosounds’ tone is light, perhaps to remain polite in front of Billy. 

Will wonders how formidable this lady is, beginning to panic again at how Nanosounds thought that bringing him along would have ever been a fantastic idea.

He’s going to ruin everything, he knows it. Heck, maybe he’ll accidentally knock over an antique vase and whoosh, there goes his chances of returning to Pandora.

“Upstairs, attending to Flux Inc. business. She’ll be seeing you shortly once she’s concluded her ECHO conference.” Billy’s milky-white eyes peer at the two of them. “Lunch is available, if you two wish to dine.”

“Thanks Billy, I’ll have…” Nanosounds trails off, tapping her chin with a fingernail (that pleases Will to observe as also being cracked). “The usual, please.”

“Of course,” Billy acknowledges, the corners of their kind eyes crinkling. “And what will our guest, Mister Strife, be having?”

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Will blurts (in a civilised tone that is completely devoid of any blind panic whatsoever).

“Are you sure?” Billy’s face remains neutral, though Will swears that those eyes flashed with amusement for a split second.

“I’m positive!” Will maintains, forcing confidence into his voice. “She’s told me all about it!” Nanosounds lets out an undignified snort at this blatant lie.

“Well, if Mister Strife insists, then so be it.” Billy shuffles off after delivering a stiff bow that makes Will worry that Billy’s going to tilt over sideways and crash onto the shiny marble tiles.

“What’s your ‘usual’ that you speak so highly of?” Will whispers to Nanosounds, who’d been watching him with a massive grin on her face. “It’d better not be ‘strange meat’.” 

Finding said ‘strange meat’ on Pandora hadn’t been a common occurrence but not as rare as one would think either. Needless to say, Will now approached all fridges with utmost care after that one scavenging job had gone down.

“You worry too much!” At the dubious stare she gets, she sighs. “It’s just noodles, chill,” She reassures. “Come on, I’ll show you around until lunch!” She offers, moving with an excitement that tells Will that showing someone around her home doesn’t happen often.

Will loses track of how many rooms the two of them pass through in her quest to play tour guide. The marble tiles become plush carpet (and he has to fight off the urge to yank his shoes and socks off to strut around barefoot), connecting room upon room. How Nanosounds remembers where and what each is room is is shocking; from what Billy had said, she hadn’t been home in months.

Years, is what Will had heard them say, reading between the lines.

He’s finding the impromptu crash course in where Nanosounds grew up in difficult to digest. He’s hardly swallowing one explanation when another one’s already being delivered via the kind of express where if a place claimed ‘delivered within the hour or double your money back, they really  _ meant _ it’. He’s lost a few windows that way.

Still, he’s not going to ruin her self-indulgent parade by interrupting or tuning out so he resorts to nodding every couple of sentences, cherry picking whatever fact she’s tossing at him.

“And here’s my family tree!” Nanosounds declares, twirling to fan an open hand out at a wall. 

The gilded tapestry rises all the way up to the ceiling, stopping shy of the grand chandelier screwed there. This tapestry belonged in a prestigious museum. He’s almost tempted to pull his sunglasses down over his eyes or risk going blind for a few hours.

There’s all the fancy font and reflective metal tacked onto the board is clearly meant to be decorative. It just makes his eyes water something fierce if he stares at a particularly glaring bit for too long. He directs his gaze to a less polished part.

If Will had a telescope on him, he’d be able to see what the topmost line says. A sniper rifle could also do the same trick. He has a feeling that pulling out one in her house is an invitation to get shot at by secret agents (who are probably hiding behind the thick, heavy looking curtains).

There’s been eyes watching him the second he set foot into the building. Will’s a smooth operator, acting like he usually does in these sorts of situations: in a barely controlled state of mild bewilderment and wondering if he can still extract himself without upsetting anyone in the process, least of all Nanosounds.

“How do you read this thing?” He asks, squinting at the tapestry’s words. That’s it, don’t say anything idiotic about ‘there’s more gold here than living family members’.

“With this!” Nanosounds supplies, handing over a conveniently placed telescope. His asking appears to please her.

He takes the telescope from her. It’s about as heavy as a small ammo case. With a bit of fiddling, he extends the end out and levers the other one up to his eye. Before that though, he wipes off the bit facing his eye, just in case  _ someone _ decided to smear mascara onto it. Nope, nothing, not even a speck of dust. The tiniest bit disappointed at a missed opportunity for a practical joke, he holds it up to let his eye focus on the tapestry.

That helps. The whole tree thins about six generations back. Anything could have caused that pruning. His searching eyes travel down. It reaches the person he’s looking for. 

Not shockingly, Nanosounds is the sole descendent of her Mother. Her Mother doesn’t have a partner. That tiny absence of a linking line strikes Will as odd, but who is he to judge anybody who’s never had any interest in that sort of thing?

“Mother never married or saw anyone,” Nanosounds states, having noticed his prolonged stare directed at the name above her own. “The idiots who’re in charge of this thing should make that more obvious.” She laughs. Bitterness runs through her tone, colouring the room’s atmosphere.

Will carefully avoids saying anything, lowering the telescope to let his gaze slide to Nanosounds.

Her hands are bunched up by her sides, hovering a few centimetres away from her pants. Her eyes are alight with an intensity that Will can’t say for sure is disdain or anger. Distinctly, he’s glad he doesn’t have to pry a lighter out of her hands, because the look he can attribute to her right now is wanting to set something (and it doesn’t take much to figure out what) on fire.

“There’s nothing wrong with having only one parent, or being adopted,” Will finally notes, choosing to play the comforting card. “Lots of people I know got by fine with-”

“I know!” Nanosounds shouts, her voice rebounding off all the windows and antiquated furniture in the room. In a restrained undertone, she adds, “I just kinda wish people didn’t make so much of a big deal about where I came from, you know?”

Sirens are supposedly born, not made. How a world reacted to the birth of a Siren often determined the Siren’s own reaction to the world around them.

Will shrugs, trying to find ground when it’s dropped out from all around him. Inch forward at a time, and use the stick of ‘careful word choices’ to investigate if he has to. “I don’t know about you, but answering with ‘I came from a vegetable patch’ sounds really good for raising alternate questions.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or are being serious,” Nanosounds deadpans, losing the undertone.

“You can tell people to fuck off too,” Will supplies. “It’d probably work better for you.” There’s probably a swear jar around here that he’ll drop a couple of bucks in, later.

“As much as I’d love to, I try not to be that rude.”

“You’ll forgive me if I find that hard to believe,” Will says with a grin. He dodges the friendly swipe, still hanging onto the telescope. “Let’s go and have lunch,” He advises, replacing the telescope on its brass stand. “That ought to cheer you up.”

“And this is why I brought you along,” Nanosounds manages to joke. “I like having someone else around who thinks with their stomach.”

“I’m only here as a pretty accessory,” Will points out, following her out. They end up in a hallway that he swears that they’ve been up and down at least five times at this point.

Nanosounds and Will travel for two minutes, traversing through ten rooms. One features a massive aquarium with dark shapes flitting amongst the coral and rocks. Will doesn’t want to know if he can stick his hand through the shield holding back all that water and have his hand come away with all his fingers present.

Another room contains a massive, field-sized pool with jets of water spurting up in decorative patterns. Will wonders if he can sneak in a swim during his stay here, provided he still kept his swimming trunks in his inventory. Pandora didn’t advertise pools (the one in Oasis doesn’t count, given Nilesy’s ridiculous admission fee).

The kitchen is as lavish as the rest of her home. Will mourns being unable to examine the coffee machine. He can add ‘get coffee’ to his to-do list.

Billy is standing to attention by the kitchen door, their back causing them to stoop regardless of their desire to actually do so. “Lunch will be served in the dining room,” Billy quavers, stepping forwards. “My dear, I must first warn you, your-” Their formal tone’s tinged with a note of almost hidden worry that Will picks up on, and which flies over Nanosounds’ head.

Too late, Nanosounds is already opening the door to the dining room. By the window encompassing an entire wall overlooking the enormous estate, Will’s eyes land on a figure waiting by it. She’s hard to miss, silhouetted by the parted curtains.

There stands a lady with grey flecking her hair, hands clasped behind her back. A business suit identical to the one Nanosounds is wearing forms her attire. Nothing is out of place, not even the crimson tie knotted at her neck. Stray threads and lint of any kind would cease to exist in her presence.

This must be Mother.

“Mother,” Nanosounds says, her voice lowering to a cool tone. The expression on her face is rendered blank. Without a jacket, Will would have shivered.

Given how expressive Nanosounds usually is, the abrupt shift to none at all is akin to watching her become a stranger before Will’s own eyes. With a pang, Will’s reminded of Parvis, back when they’d first gotten to know each other in the clinic. 

He swallows, not daring to interrupt. Look Strife, look at how history repeats itself, look at how much of an idiot he is to let it continue cycling until he’s learned his lesson, and by then, maybe it’ll be too late and he’ll be all alone again. This time, he’ll make an effort to help.

“Nanosounds,” Her Mother acknowledges, turning to face the two. Her eyes don’t pass over Will until they’ve been over Nanosounds.

If Will had placed mother and daughter side by side, the resemblance is extraordinary, from the lines of their faces down to their frames. Mother is rendered older, age shaving off several centimetres to her height. It doesn’t make her any less imposing, given that the expression on her face is imperious.

“Lunch will be served shortly, so please sit down,” Billy announces from behind Nanosounds. It breaks the invisible tension between Nanosounds and her Mother. Nanosounds glances away, staring out the window.

“Thank you Billy,” Mother says, her voice exactly as Will imagined it to be: cool, with a hint of natural disdain, no matter what the inflection is. And Nanosounds had grown up hearing that voice day and day out. 

Will can’t check how Nanosounds is doing, Nanosounds striding over to take the furthest seat possible from her Mother, besides the door. Her shoes whisper across the carpet, lacking any of the boisterous stomping or galumphing that Will’s used to.

“Sit next to me?” Nanosounds nods at the seat on her left; that places Will Strife between the two parties.

Before he can spot the expression on her Mother’s face, he’s already drawing out Nanosounds’ chair for her. Billy nods in approval at the gentlemanly gesture, causing their wispy hair to cloud around their head.

Only then does Will take his own seat once Nanosounds is settled, reminding himself to sit up straight. He hasn’t endeavoured to sit up this straight up for years, not since primary school. His own peripheral vision spies Nanosounds’ Mother rendered as wholly indifferent to the impromptu change in seating arrangements.

He can feel her regarding him with mild interest. Now that’s never a good thing, especially when dealing with those wielding absolute power coupled with near-infinite fortune.

Billy wheels in a hovering cart, tottering steps rendering the cutlery and plates clinking every few metres or so. “For the young lady and Mister Strife, the ’usual’.” Billy presents two porcelain bowls sitting on identical silver plates. Cutlery’s placed by him.

Will glances down, bracing himself for what’s being served. Through the steam pouring out, a heap of yellow threads marinate in a pale brown soup. He blinks, fingernails secretly pinching his palm just in case this is a dream of some sort. Now would be an excellent time to wake up.

“What? Were you expecting something else, like chopped liver?” Nanosounds raises an eyebrow, picking up her lacquered chopsticks in preparation to dig in. She’s never talked in his dreams (and when she did, it’s to scream as the Goliath snaps her neck like a twig running through a woodchipper).

“Nothing,” Will primly says, hastily wiping his mind clean. Noodles are noodles, no matter where he goes. He’ll take it.

“We do in fact, have chopped liver, if Mister Strife desires it,” volunteers Billy from behind Nanosounds as they return to the dining room cart.

“Thank you, but no.” Will glances down at his bowl to avoid spotting Nanosounds’ grin.

Nanosounds’ Mother is too, eating noodles. Lacquered chopsticks dip into the bowl; she makes eating with chopsticks seem like a formal, civilised activity. In comparison, Nanosounds is sloshing bits of broth everywhere, not as tidy as her Mother but still generally getting most of it in her mouth.

Following her and Nanosounds’ example, Will strives to make the least amount of mess possible, avoiding making any loud animalistic slurping noises or embarrassing gulping sounds as he works through the bowl’s delicious contents. Slow and steady, that’s it. 

Nanosounds has long since emptied her bowl of soup and noodles when Will only has a quarter left. Nanosounds’ Mother is still sipping from the bowl with a porcelain spoon by the time Will’s done.

Conversation resumes, starting awkwardly as it’s beckoned back into the room after a prolonged, humiliating dismissal.

“Nanosounds, how have you been? Pandora’s not exactly civilised country,” Mother lightly begins. Even though Will saw her name on the family tree, he’s still going to mentally dub her ‘Mother’ like how he hears it.

“Pandora’s great!” Nanosounds laughs, a high-pitched, fake series of empty sounds that grates on Will’s nerves. That’s not her typical laugh, and will never be. “I’ve been having  _ fun _ .” 

A lead weight drops in the same instance the word ‘fun’ leaves Nanosounds. It smashes through the mask Mother’s wearing. Will swears that she saw an eyebrow rise, just a smidgen.

“Fun.” The way the word rolls off her tongue makes it sound like ‘fun’ is an alien concept. “Did you meet your friend there?” That’s it, fake nonchalance, Will, and maybe she won’t pick on you.

“Yes, I did,” Nanosounds says, her tone snapping shut like the shutters of a window anticipating hail.

Mother pauses to give her a neutral look. It penetrates Will and out the other side of his body to reach Nanosounds. “How long will you be staying?”

“Just for today and tomorrow,” Nanosounds answers, smiling a genial smile that Will associates with ‘I am going to shoot you with my SMG, and my SMG is Maliwan-made’.

“You’re going to leave so soon after arriving?” There’s possibly an accusation hiding in those words. Mother makes it sound so subtle.

“Yes, I’m a very  _ busy _ person.” Will wants to yell ‘that’s my girl’ at Nanosounds. Nothing can get past her. Well, except a couple of determined skags wanting a piece of him.

“Do you require assistance on Pandora?”

“No, I’m managing just fine there.” Nanosounds relaxes at the change in topic. Will knows that Mother is doing. He mentally curses for being unable to warn Nanosounds about the old ‘switch and bait’ tactic.

“And is your friend helping you?”

There’s no avoiding that question, not when Mother’s looking right at him. Her expression is expectant. Nanosounds closes her mouth, shooting Will an imploring look of ‘answer her, so we can get out of here already’.

Will puts down the spoon he’d been holding uselessly for the past minute or so. He takes a deep breath and replies, “Ma’am, I’m Will Strife, of Strife Solutions.” He thinks he’s being respectful, using a tone that he reserves for only two people in the universe: Ravs, and the person wanting that report that he’s been working on forever.

“I haven’t heard of that company before,” Mother politely says, after a brief pause indicating that her mental search returning empty.

Will’s face heats up, drawing concern from Nanosounds. He’s never exactly elaborated on the nature of his own company, finding his to be dwarfed by the giant that’s hers. “It’s just me at the moment. Someday I hope to expand operations.” He knows he sounds horribly pathetic, just a small time businessman dreaming a dream that’s too large for him to ever accomplish on his own.

“And what does Strife Solutions do?” She’s not even looking directly at him, setting her spoon down to consult a file by her hand.

He can’t stop now, even if he feels like he’s being trodden on by pointed high heels. “Strife Solutions is prepared to do whatever it takes to meet the client’s needs, whether it’s fulfilling data collection, providing financial advice, or running risk assessments…” Will’s already slid into ‘elevator pitch’ mode, reciting a proposal that he’s nursed in his brain ever since he left university.

If she’s listening, she’s not showing it, giving a brief nod once he’s stopped. Not even the slightest trace of emotion flits over passive features. He finishes off with considerably less enthusiasm than what he’d started out with.

Three seconds after that, Nanosounds tugs on his sleeve with enough force to make his hand spasm from surprise. He glances at her. Her eyes dart towards the door.

“Mother, may I be excused?” She inquires in a tone that would have made lesser people take immediate cover.

“You may go,” Her Mother coolly dismisses, still focusing on the file in front of her.

“Thank you.” Nanosounds and Will Strife flee the dining room, hastily thanking Billy for their meal on their way out.

Will’s dragged up a flight of stairs, nearly tripping on the carpet on another hallway before Nanosounds ends up in front of a set of double doors. It’s here that Nanosounds deigns to let him go at last. She spawns a key in her hand. It’s thrust into the lock, being twisted with enough force to make the metal nearly crunch. Will winces as she flings the doors open, storming through them.

Over her tense shoulders, Will can see that this a bedroom that she’s just opened up. It’s hers. Not sure if he’s allowed in or not, he hovers in the doorway.

“You coming in or what?” She whirls around to snap that at him, hardly waiting for a response before throwing herself onto her bed. Well, that answers that.

Will steps in after her, taking in the room. He reaches out to fold the doors shut. If the inside of mercenary ships reflected their owner, this room reflected who Nanosounds is  _ supposed _ to be. 

Trophies and prizes for all sorts of things that Will’s never even heard of, let alone knew existed, adorn the walls in intricate frames, filling countless glass cases and shelves. Displayed out in the open, it’s impossible to find any trace of Nanosounds between all the bestowed achievements and ‘talent’ she supposedly possesses.

When he reaches up to run a finger along a bookshelf, dust clings to his finger. He shakes his hand, suspecting that the books are there as a placeholder. None of the titles seem to be what he considers as something that she’d take any interest in. Clearly someone thinks that she should have studied them in her spare time.

Nanosounds is sprawled out on her bed, screaming into a pillow clamped to her face.

He leaves her to her stress busting in favor of perusing the rest of the room. His gaze is drawn to a bunch of soft plush toys clumped on a bookshelf at waist height. 

Once he’s by it, he experimentally prods the tackiest looking one with a finger. It flops over, revealing an ear that’s been chewed on so that the stitching is rendered wispy thin, the color all faded from a child’s unconditional love.

A splash of royal purple along the body and legs are the only disfigurements he can see that weren’t originally part of it. Blue stitching (uncannily mimicking Nanosounds’ Siren markings) adorn all of the toy’s left side, curling along its nubby face, bent button nose and lopsided mouth, winding around its abdomen, leg and floppy arm. 

Will examines a faded tag, flattening it out. It denotes the toy as ‘custom made, for Nanosounds, with love from…’ The rest of the tag sports a torn off edge. The yellowing tag springs back into a roll once he lets go of it.

Ever the sharp observer, Will extracts an item from behind the stack of toys. It’s a clear plastic file, wrinkled from being sat on constantly or hastily stuffed into its hiding place. He flips it open to peer into it. The inside is crammed full of dog-eared comic books falling apart where the staples joined pages together.

He knows that comic book off by heart, fighting a nostalgic pang to flip it open and have a read of it. Jeez, as a kid, he’d worked a part-time job mowing lawns for two bloody months before being able to afford the whole set.

Not wanting to dislodge anything else hidden in it, he restores it, diligently replacing the toys keeping it safe. A check of the bed reveals that Nanosounds is now pummelling the pillow with all her might. Walls wouldn’t survive those punches. Ravs’ lessons are already showing.

Turning, Will spots one award for ‘slam poetry’ half-hidden behind a fallen laminated poster for Flux Inc.’s company logo. What other hidden treasures had she chosen to hide from prying eyes?

Will’s next stop is the desk. Huh, he’d expected her desk to be a disaster zone. Her desk is ordered, divided into makeup, stationary, various childhood photographs and dainty half-open containers of jewelry.

He peruses the photographs. Not once does he have the urge to snap a picture for potential blackmail, too busy finding each photograph absolutely  _ precious. _

There she is, barely five years old and in a dress, beaming and clearly excited to go to school. There is she is at ten, short black hair plastered to her head, grinning fiendishly in a wetsuit that’s covered in sand all the way up to her shoulders. The hover surfboard she’s standing next to almost dwarfs her.

At thirteen, the wetsuit and dress have been replaced by ripped jeans, tartan shirts and closely cropped hair, her arms slung around the shoulders of two people. The two are unfamiliar to Will. He guesses that they must be friends of hers to touch her without worrying about her powers. He tries not to envy them so much, moving on.

At fifteen, she is by herself, smiling at the photo. Her gaze is faraway, staring past the photographer. Closed off, wondering what her place in life is. He knows that feeling.

At twenty, she is in a suit standing in front of a university gate, as proud as a student can be on their first day. Here, she is prepared to make her own way, armed with willpower, a laptop and a brain ready to be crammed full of knowledge.

At twenty five, she is holding up a degree, garbed in a graduation gown and tossing up a tassled hat with her other hand. She is laughing (and Will  _ feels _ her happiness reverberate through him, throwing him back to the faded memory of his own, lonely, graduation).

The second photograph reveals two people (not the ones from before, two different strangers this time) giving thumbs-up, a beaming Nanosounds crammed in between them. Her two companions are are dressed in graduation gowns identical to hers. The one with long brown hair is leaning down to give Nanosounds a lick on the cheek; the other one with bubblegum pink hair and glasses gone’s cross-eyed, also ruining the seriousness of the photo.

The photographs end there, surprising Will because he’d expected that others would have followed. The Nanosounds he knows isn’t that much older than the one in the photos.

There is a glaring discrepancy that he can’t ignore present in all of them: Nanosounds’ tattoos are covered up by clothing (save for the ones on her face). Another: none of the photos show any version of her that’s younger than five.

Shame, Will’s been wanting to discover baby photos, if only to make fun of her because that’s what friends do when they discover each other’s baby photos. It’s either that or coo constantly over them chubby cheeks.

At the edge of the desk is a white journal outlined in a decorative red border filled with squares. A nail-sized purple padlock stops anyone from tampering with it. 

Will gently pushes the diary under the chest of earrings. Without a weight on top of it, a loose page flutters onto the floor. He automatically stoops to pick it up, inadvertently catching sight of what’s on the page.

His mouth thins (see, what’d he say about accidentally picking up Lalnable’s habits). Thumping behind him lets him know that Nanosounds is still venting her frustrations out on the pillow of her choice. He pops the page back where it’d belonged. A step to the left ensures that he’s done nothing wrong aside from checking out his reflection in the round mirror above the desk.

That’s what Nanosounds spots when she lifts her head, the last of her rage gone by the way of a cathartic ‘scream into a pillow and if that’s not enough, punch something until her hand hurts’. Since she doubts Will Strife is punchable, a pillow had generously taken his place.

Rubbing the pillow where a dent (shaped like her knuckles) formed, Nanosounds watches Will Strife pull a series of goofy faces, each one sillier than the last. Clearly finding himself a real riot, Will winks and neatly double-pistols at his own reflection.

“You’re a nerd, Will Strife!” Nanosounds shouts at him.

He leaps half a metre into the air, clutching at his chest. “Holy  _ shit,  _ give a guy a little warning before you scream at him!” Will gasps.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” Nanosounds says, sliding off the bed. Still toting her pillow, she makes her way over to him. “I can’t believe I’m friends with someone who winks at their own reflection,” She mutters, making sure that Will can overhear.

Will clears his throat, exaggerating the cough and the obvious ‘ahem’ sound without making it sound like he’s got a frog stuck in there. “Excuse me, but I know I’m incredibly stunning, so I deserve to let myself know every once in a while.” At the look on her face, he sighs. “You know, a little self-loving.” He drops his voice, making it sultry so the last word’s purred out.

“You’re a  _ narcissist _ , Strife.” Nanosounds giggles.

“If it means loving thyself, then I’m happy enough to call myself one,” Will shoots back.

“I don’t think that the word means what you think it means,” She says.

“I stand my ground,” He automatically says, grinning.

Nanosounds raises the pillow she’s holding in one hand, her gaze contemplative and locking onto his own. Will eyes the pillow. Following a hunch, he removes his sunglasses to safely tuck them into his inventory. He proceeds to eye her grinning face, opening his mouth.

The pillow thwaps into his face before he can say anything.

“Pillow fight!” Nanosounds shrieks, swinging the pillow upwards again with all of her strength.

“HAVE MERCY,” Will screams, flinging his hands up to cover his head from the assault. With that much force behind the swing, even an innocent pillow manages to make him see stars.

“Not until you admit that you don’t know what narcissist means!” Nanosounds cackles, thoroughly enjoying being able to torment him.

Will shoves her away from him, cracking up as he ducks to avoid being slapped in the back by another wide swing. “NEVER!”

“COME BACK HERE!” A chair goes flying onto the carpet, tugging it loose.

“NO.”

“YOU CAN SURRENDER AND FACE MY FEATHERY WRATH INSTEAD.” The pillow homes in on his butt.

“I ALREADY AM.” Will combat rolls over the bed, the bed creaking from the motion. He snatches up the other pillow there, springing out of the roll to face her.

Nanosounds is bouncing on the bed, brandishing a pillow like she would a two-handed sword. The bed’s punctuating her movements with groans composed of wooden creaking and squeaks of stressed metal.

“You sure you want to challenge me to a proper pillow fight?” She whispers, jutting her chin out in challenge.

“That I do,” He whispers back. “Prepare to meet your  _ maker _ , Siren.”

“After you,” She responds. The two charge at each other, weapons held high.

Ten minutes later, the bedroom is a complete mess of loose feathers, upset furniture and scattered clumps of stuffing. Nanosounds and Will Strife lie panting in the middle of the carnage, on the plush carpet.

“That was the best pillow fight I’ve ever had,” Nanosounds reveals in a hushed tone. It is also totally not her first pillow fight.

“Same,” Will says, spitting out a feather sticking to his mouth. “Ugh, I think you broke my kneecap with that one hit.”

“You’re such a wuss,” Nanosounds observes, sounding like she’s not making the slightest attempt to hide the accompanying snicker.

“I’m can’t help it if I’m  _ delicate _ !” Will retorts.

She snorts. “The only delicate thing about you is…” Frowning, she tries to find a proper retort. “Is your face,” She settles on saying, knowing that it’s a pretty pathetic comeback. In her defense, she’s knackered out from a pillow fight, because a gunfight with a bunch of bandits is the only other event that could achieve the same effect.

“My delicate  _ but _ good-looking face,” Will immediately corrects.

The pitiful remains of Nanosounds’ pillow land on his face. There’s hardly any stuffing inside of it to be as painful as the initial blow; he tugs it off his face, lobbing it aside.

“So uh, who’s gonna clean up this mess?”

“I suppose I should get a broom.” There’s Billy. Neither are inclined to bother Billy.

“Nah, let’s just stay here.”

“The floor is pretty comfortable.”

“I’d prefer the bed but I’m afraid I can’t move.” Will tries to sit up. His back stalls, whinging about moving so soon after that ridiculous, heavy-hitting ordeal. He desists all movement, sprawling out further. All these feathers are going to be a pain to pick out from his suit.

“Oh, don’t tell me I broke your back.” Nanosounds tries to swat him. A metre that she doesn’t bother to close separates them. Her swat scatters feathers into the air that drift down like feathery flakes.

“...Possibly.”

“I didn’t even hit you that hard, you wimp.”

“Moving is not a thing that I am planning on, maybe for the next two months.”

“Let me help you out, Strife.” She rolls over onto her stomach, shuffling onto her knees and hands with a diabolical glint in her eyes.

Will mentally curses at his back for choosing a fantastic time to continue whining about the possibility of sudden movements. The most he can do is inch sideways away from Nanosounds’ reaching hands. “Oh no, you keep your dirty mitts to yourself- WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TOUCHING.” Hands find his side, shoving him over like he’s some sort of useless, stuck log. Fingers dig into his jacket, hoisting him up.

“Calm down, I just got the back of your belt!” A grunt is followed by a yelp. “And up we go!”

“I am upright and you’re giving me a wedgie.” Will pauses to reassess his circumstances. “My life officially  _ sucks _ as of this point.”

“Hush, we’ll get some ice for your butt.” Nanosounds releases him; only to deliver a comforting pat to his rear before laughing at Will’s startled hop away from her hand. Sticking her head outside, Nanosounds shouts, ”Billy!”

“Yes?” There’s no way that Billy could have answered her summons that fast without the use of a teleporter.

“Please get some ice for Strife’s injured behind.”

“I shall. Will you require a towel as well for that?”

“Yes, thank you.” The door’s closed by a satisfied Nanosounds.

“Why, the  _ nerve _ ! You told Billy!” Will splutters, still rubbing the spot where she’d patted him. His face isn’t burning, it’s just super warm in here.

“I did, because I care if my friend’s squishy tush got hurt because of my irresponsible but enjoyable actions, and I am deeply sorry for hurting your sensitive hiney-”

“You know way too many words for ass,” Will cuts in with the air of someone who’d very much like her to stop talking, preferably right that second.

There’s a beat where Nanosounds is rendered silent, before she thoughtfully says, “I could be calling it worse things, like hot spanking bootylicious bottom-”

Will holds up a hand, silencing her. Based on his gaze, whatever friendship they’d had can be buried ten feet deep under a slab of cement with the gravestone demolished to avoid all and any future resurrections. 

“ _ Stop _ ,” He whispers, in a tone laden with motificication and the overwhelming need to bust a gut laughing if it wouldn’t encourage her to keep killing him.

Nanosounds rolls her last round around in her mouth, testing out the words in her head. She decides to fire away, just see Will’s gaze deaden further. “You know, I bet Parvis would have a lot to say about your gluteus maximus.” A nudge (of the knowing kind) in the side earns a cursory swat from Will. A few clingy feathers are dislodged from his person.

“That’s it, I’m officially done! I’m officially done here.” Will moves to leave, only to be yanked by the back of the jacket by a laughing Nanosounds. “Send me the bill to the Fast Travel and I’ll pay it back in a million years.”

“Hey Strife, if you stay, I’ll show you my diamond pony,” Nanosounds offers.

Will’s feet stop dead on the carpet. His arms rotate first, followed by his feet and at last, his whole body. “Diamond pony, you say?” The look on his face is neutral, so neutral as to render master of poker’s face an open book.

“And before you ask, that wasn’t an euphemism.”

“Wasn’t going to say it was,” Will automatically answers in a implicating tone that says ‘it so was’.

Fifteen minutes later, Will’s standing inside the stables with a diamond pony nibbling glittery rocks out of the palm of his hand. A giggle escapes him before he can help it. The pony’s tongue is a slippery whip of a thing, scouting out his open hand with a single-minded determination for any last remnants of the rocks.

He’s congratulating himself on removing his cuff links beforehand, or come a few hours later, he’ll be panning the pony’s blocky excrement for the precious pin-sized twin modules.

“Ever ridden before, Strife?” Nanosounds arrives at the stables on a purple Stingray. The engine shuts off as she despawns it, plodding over to him.

Will muses on how she’d gotten her way in the end, wheedling him into handing over a rare copy of the Stingray’s precious blueprint. Sirens are probably used to getting what they wanted, he also adds to that observation. Nobody wanted to have their brain stop functioning once the Siren understood that they’d just said ‘no’. 

Then again, Rythian, Lalna and a whole bunch of other people are walking around without a melted brain. And so is Nanosounds’ Mother, in spite of all those times Will’s seen Nanosounds’ demeanour reverse like a switch’s been flipped.

Raising a Siren can’t have been a walk in the park. Compared to other affairs, no guide exists for that. Along the way, it’s inevitable that there’d be mistakes made in the process, some long-lasting and detrimental. He’s not just thinking about the effect on Nanosounds.

“Depends on what’s being ridden,” Will says, waggling his eyebrows. Goddamn, he deserves a pat on the back for that one. Also, how Parvis or Ravs always kept a straight face when they said shit along those lines, Will’s yet to master the technique. He ends up snorting in a less than dignified manner, eliciting a groan and a dramatic roll of the eyes from Nanosounds.

“I’m referring to the beautiful creature currently eating your sleeve,” Nanosounds points out.

“Hey, that sleeve belongs to me! Not for eating!” Will’s free hand rises to shove the pony’s nubby teeth off his sleeve. “Ew, pony drool. Granted, it’s diamond pony drool but  _ urgh _ .” The pony huffs at the lack of edible items he’s offering it, turning a curious head in Nanosounds’ direction.

“That’s what you get for not paying attention,” Nanosounds says, smirking. She picks up a sugar cube, offering it. The pony smacks at it, tongue swiping across her palm until the cube’s dissolved into a sticky, goopy mess. 

Anticipating it, Will moves before Nanosounds can wipe her hand on his shirt or person. “I’m not your personal napkin!”

“You could be,” Nanosounds proposes.

“No thank you, I like being your friend better,” pops out of his mouth before his brain can stop it. 

Nanosounds’ mouth drops. She doesn’t even notice the pony beginning to nibble at her jacket. Will stares into the darkening sky for a few moments, wanting very much to staple his own mouth shut. “What did you say?” She asks in a hushed tone.

“Look, before you say anything, I did mean that.” Remembering how it’d gone down with Parvis, he sincerely hopes that Nanosounds doesn’t end up crying. Or doing anything resulting in one destroyed stable, or his guts spread out all over the straw.

“I’m your  _ friend. _ ” Nanosounds closes the distance between them with a few long strides. Despite how short she is, Sirens could make a room feel much, much smaller by merely stepping into it (and she’s no exception).

“I stand by what I said,” Will slowly repeats, hoping that she won’t make a massive deal about this.

“Come here!” Nanosounds’ thickset arms encircle his midriff before he can protest or try to weasel out of it, easily lifting him off his feet. She presses against his ribs, massaging them deeper into the cavity of his chest.

“Can’t breathe,” He wheezes. “Hug too much for poor Will’s lungs, ribs and chest!”

She puts him down, or rather, sets him down, staring at him rather fondly. Will busies with rubbing his chest and checking that she hasn’t wrinkled his tie or suit. “No more touchy feely shit today, I don’t have an iron on me to deal with the consequences,” He says, with as much dignity as possible when the hug’s done something to the foreign place inside of him where all the warm, fuzzy feelings originated from.

“Billy can iron out your suit for you if you want,” She offers, picking a bit of lint off his shoulder.

Will permits it, shrugging after. “Nah, it’ll just get wrinkled again.” Nanosounds’ eyebrows rise. This is coming from the person who frets about the constant state of their wardrobe, generally about their beloved tie. That tie’s been through all manner of gunfights, emerging with nary a scratch or frayed thread, until the day it met the walking and talking human disaster Parvis. That’s the story she’d heard from Will, at any rate.

Will Strife is in standing in his best suit, letting it be gnawed on by a diamond pony and he’s not complaining about  _ wrinkles _ . What’s the universe coming to? 

Oh, and the fact that he’s just casually called her his friend makes the inside of her head fit to burst with elation, with all and any previous, lingering ill feelings softening until all that remains is the sappy mushiness that comes with knowing that she’s got a friend of her very own.

She’s made a  _ friend _ without anybody meddling. Take that, Mother, see, she can bond with people who don’t need to be bribed. Nanosounds isn’t that pathetic of a person...right? If there’s a downside to having kickass powers, it’s that people tended to keep a wide berth for fear of causing or being near a meltdown.

“Let’s go for a walk on the beach,” She proposes. Upon seeing the sly look Will darts at the pony, she adds, “The pony can come with us.”

“I’m in,” Will quickly says as the stablehand readies the pony. The reins are handed over to him. Impatient to be off, the pony begins to trot towards the doorway, tugging one Will Strife alongside it as he tries to lead it and fails because when a pony wants to go somewhere, people had better be ready to keep up with it.

The three of them take the path back down to the beach where the Fast Travel Station had deposited them. The weather is balmy, with a hint of chill to make them appreciate the rare breeze cruising up and down the coastline.

The water is almost the same hue as the sky, a dark purple sheet broken up by white foam, drenched by streaks of orange reflecting off the rippling surface. Will hands the reins over to Nanosounds, the pony tossing its shiny head and eyeing the water warily.

Will removes his shoes, tossing them into his inventory. His trousers are rolled all the way up to his knees, tucked in so that there’s no chance of them coming loose. There’s no point in letting his shoes go the way of his other belongings, getting wrecked thanks to the devious inspirations of nature. Shields have been known to fail on that occasion.

The waves sweep over his toes, lapping at his ankles. Sand sinks under his feet, grains rubbing against his skin, massaging whatever they can reach.

The air tastes of salt, tangy and lined with cold to fill his lungs when he breathes it in. Moments that he can have to himself can’t last forever, nor would he ever try to stretch it out or he can watch it snap in half like a rubber band reaching its limit. He takes the reins from Nanosounds.

Beside him, she splashes about in the surf, kicking up lengths of decaying seaweed that tangle around her legs. Making a sound of disgust, she leans down. The offending strand is yanked off and pitched into the sea.

“Take that!” Nanosounds yells after it, her voice being absorbed by the ocean. The waves sound like the ocean’s laughing at her disgust.

Holding onto the reins of a diamond pony, Will Strife stands there with water all the way up to his ankles and tries not to drown in the comforting peace that’s been eluding him for so long on Pandora.

\--

The day and night cycle on Hecate is half of Pandora’s. Given that Hecate’s sky is naturally purple, all the lights inside Nanosounds’ childhood home flicker on to indicate that nighttime’s upon them.

The dinner that Nanosounds and Will’s been dreading is in three hours. Naturally, Nanosounds has taken it upon herself to coach Will on the intricacies of a meal with her Mother.

“So, wait, there are three courses, plus dessert?” Will glances down at his notes, the inside of his head buzzing with miscellaneous details of how to interact with people who could be wealthy enough to keep not one, but fifteen diamond ponies.

He’s still not over the fact that there are people who can gorge on three courses and still have room to fit in the delight that’s dessert. Well, it certainly explains Nanosounds’ healthy appetite and her inclinations to ask for seconds (or thirds). Will’s own modest appetite accepts whatever can fit onto a dinner plate. If he’s got room left, he could maybe fit half a second meal in.

“No, there’s three courses, then dessert,  _ followed _ by coffee,” Nanosounds corrects, her impatience showing in the form of an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know why you’re having a hard time with all this if you can haggle for half an hour with Old Sereno about the correct price of a Tediore gun!”

“For the record, haggling doesn’t involve having to know which knife cuts open an oyster or get laughed at if I use the soup spoon instead!” Will tosses his pen down, slumping in his seat.

“Look, it’s simple…” Nanosounds tugs over his most recent notes to add to them. Said page is featuring sketches of all the knives and forks, plus a bunch of items that he thinks might be more at home in a torture chamber than a dining table. “We might not even need to go over this, my Mother doesn’t usually break out all this stuff for guests…” The trailing off tells him that Mother is prone to springing surprises on others.

“And yet, here we are, going over all this, just in case,” Will observes in a voice that could have produced wood shavings out of thin air.

“Well, we don’t have to go over this if you don’t want to!” Everything jumps when she throws her hands up in the air, glowering at him from across the table.

“Nano, the only reason-” He patiently begins.

“Did you just call me Nano?” She interrupts, her eyes widening. Only Lalna called her that, unless her memory’s mistaken. The moment lodges in her mind, whirling like a miniature tornado composed of his words and the flash of surprise playing out over his face before it’s whisked away by a sigh.

“Yes, but that’s not the point I’m about to make.” Will sighs again, largely to compose himself. He retrieves the rolling pen before it rolls off the table. It clicks in his hand. 

“What point did you want to make instead?” Nanosounds’ petulant gaze remains on his face.

Here goes nothing. Will lets out the deep breath he’d been holding, calmly launching into a miniature tirade. “The only reason why I’m subjecting myself to this torture is because it’s clearly very important to you that I get along with your Mother and make the best impression possible so that she’ll let you go back to Pandora with me-” 

“Will, are you okay?”

He impatiently shushes her. “I’m not done yet!” At no sign of further interruptions, he adds, “Am I right?” He breathlessly finishes the entire thing off with a final click of the pen, tossing it up before letting it get collected by his inventory on the way down. Chuffed that he hadn’t missed the dramatic catch, he maintains his less than enthused stare.

She closes her mouth because it’d fallen open during his lengthy observation. “Will Strife, you are full of surprises today.” Nanosounds leans back. The impressed nods she gives him tells him that he’s guessed correctly.

And now it’s time to do the exact opposite. 

“Good, because my next surprise is that I’m not going to remember all this shit.” Will takes off his sunglasses, leaving them on the table. His eyes are about to become square from staring at the lens.

The lens have been trawling the ECHOnet for tips and guides on how to behave when interacting with the upper crust of society. So far, it’s all been romantic comedies that have been the main hits. He’s discretely marked a few to watch during his next wrestle session with his report.

Come to think of it, his report’s due to arrive any second once Maliwan’s done with it. That’s not his present main concern. His present, main concern right now is trying to remember all these  _ things  _ about the correct spoon to use on soup, provided soup’s on the menu later tonight.

A series of soft taps on the door makes the two of them jump. “Nanosounds and Mister Strife, you have guests,” announces Billy’s whisper of a voice. It winds around the gap in the door, followed by an expectant silence.

“Come in,” Nanosounds invites, glancing at Will with her eyebrows raised.

Will’s hand scours the table for the cover of his notebook, folding it shut as he keeps his eyes on the door. Two people are admitted by Billy. The click of the latch announces Billy’s departure, shutting the four people in.

The figure on the right has a head of bushy hair dyed the kind of eye-searing pink that’s right out of a bubblegum ECHOnet ad. Will blinks, expecting any second for the hair to change color. It firmly remains pink, much to his disappointment. The suit they’re wearing is is a deep blue, bringing out their matching eyes. Manicured fingers reach up to push dark brown glasses higher up their nose as they stiffly regard Nanosounds.

The figure on the left’s wearing a smile that has Will nearly reaching for his digistruct modules. That smile promises trickery, and Will’s learned that trickery on Pandora equates to a hidden, explosive surprise hiding somewhere nearby. They too, are in a suit. It’s shaded a darker blue, clashing somewhat with the figure’s orange-brown hair. Will’s seen these two in one of the photographs on Nanosounds’ desk.

The pair glance at Will, then at Nanosounds. The silence grows, making the room appear larger than it really is. Nanosounds and the two figures explode into delighted screams, throwing themselves across the room to hug.

Will’s back meets the window, except that the window’s wide open so he ends up making an embarrassingly loud sound of distress. Laughing, Nanosounds reaches over with a hand to easily tug him back indoors by the tie.

“Mind the tie!” He squeaks, glad that someone’s looking out for him (even if she’s responsible for nearly making him fall out in the first place). 

Once he’s back on his feet, he proceeds to close and lock the window to prevent further accidents before checking that his tie’s still in one piece. Parvis’ impromptu repair job is still holding up. The two figures watching grin at him, their arms slung over Nanosounds’ shoulders. He conceals his embarrassment with an air of quiet pride.

“Will, this is Caff and Chrissa, they work for my Mother,” Nanosounds introduces by way of an quick explanation. Directed nods indicate who she’s referring to.

“Nice to meet you,” Will says with as much casualness as possible when he’d come close to falling out of a window seconds earlier.

“Caff, what’re your pronouns today?” Nanosounds inquires.

“Him and he, please,” Caff cheerfully responds, his grin not budging. “Thanks for checking, sometimes people forget.”

“Just thought I’d make sure,” Nanosounds says.

“Strife, we’ve heard all about you from Nanosounds!” Chrissa leans forward. Will refuses to edge away from that sharp smile, meeting it with one of his own. It lacks the same edge so he knows that it’s coming across as strained.

“Are these the people who you’ve also been sending letters to?” Will raises his eyebrows at Nanosounds, silently asking if there’s anything else he should know right now.

Nanosounds shrugs, evidently pretending there isn’t. Fine by him, he’ll just have to continue observing until he’s got the whole picture put together. “Yeah, they’ve been my buds since uni, so I got to keep them in the loop.”

“I assume this loop involves running the company?” Will sits down on his chair, packing up all the loose bits of paper into notebooks.

“We work for her Mother, so it’s very important that we talk to Nanosounds since you’re going to run the company one day, aren’t you?” Caff elbows Nanosounds, only to grimace when her elbow digs into his chest. “Ouch! Okay, still a work in progress, gotcha.”

“And what do you two do?” Will poses to the two.

“I’m a bodyguard,” Chrissa reveals, nodding at Caff. “He works as a secretary. I go where he goes. Sometimes I go where the boss says.” Hm, why isn’t it surprising that Will suspects that there’s a hidden meaning under all that?

“What about Nanosounds? Don’t you need to follow her too?” Will points out, laying his hands flat on the table.

“She doesn’t need a bodyguard, last I checked,” Chrissa laughs. Nanosounds laughs and vigorously nods, agreeing with her. Well, Will’s not about to argue with that.

“The day I need one is the day I finally accept the job offer,” Nanosounds says, making a sour face like she’d rather kiss a rakk.

“Oh, that reminds me. Are you looking forward to the dinner?” Caff inquires with the air of one ignorant about the current circumstances, such as the revived tension between Nanosounds and her Mother. Or maybe he is aware and is pretending that it doesn’t exist because it’s his boss he’s talking about here. On the other, it’s his friend and the daughter of his boss that he’s talking to.

The change on Nanosounds’ face causes Chrissa to ‘stealthy’ kick Caff on the shin, earning a shocked ‘o’ of pain from him. Nanosounds shrugs out from between them. “No, actually.”

Caff limps over to the window seat as Chrissa shoots him a warning glare. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, I just thought-” He starts, talking more to Chrissa than Nanosounds.

“It’s fine.” Nanosounds overtakes him to flop down on the window seat, tugging a cushion over to fiddle with a plump purple tassel. “I just didn’t think I’d be back so soon.”

Chrissa clears away a cushion, settling besides her. “None of us did.”

Caff takes the seat opposite Will since the window seat is fully occupied. “Do you know why she’s called you back this early? We thought it’d take another year or so to properly establish on Pandora.”

“No, I don’t. I just thought she wanted to make sure that I was doing things  _ right _ .” Nanosounds’ fingers curls round the tassel. “Her way, I mean.”

“I’m sure you’re doing a fantastic job,” Chrissa promptly reassures.

“She’s never had a problem with how you do things,” Caff adds. “Your reports are on point, you get them in on time and that’s just the tip of the iceberg!”

“I’m sure she’ll find some nice way of letting me know if I fucked up in front of you guys. Again.” Nanosounds almost rips the tassel off, the praise from Caff having no effect on her building agitation.

“Language!” Caff admonishes, adopting a pompous voice that has Nanosounds giggling. “Please, there’s no need for that sort of foul language here.”

Will almost snorts. Caff should buy luxury earplugs because if that’s the kind of language he gets offended by, he shouldn’t head to the seedier districts on Pandora. The language there would definitely make such delicate ears curdle up and drop off.

Chrissa glances at Will. He stares back, not sure why she’s glancing at him with such contemplation. “Nanosounds’ Mother wants her to inherit the company someday, when she steps down,” She explains.

“I got that much,” Will says, not wanting to admit what she says being that obvious. Mother doesn’t seem like the type to step down, if ever. “But what’s the problem?” He directs this question at Nanosounds, not wanting Caff or Chrissa to answer for her. He ignores how Chrissa’s raised an eyebrow, plus the way Caff shifts his body away like he expects Will to randomly lunge at him.

“There’s no problem at all, except that Mother appears to think I need  _ guidance _ in regards to inheriting,” Nanosounds says, her voice clipped. She hasn’t noticed her friends’ behaviour. “Apparently, I’m not proper heiress material if I keep running about on Pandora like a hooligan, using guns rather than words-” The resulting rant is one that he’s heard from her on the way to the gun shop.

Caff and Chrissa listen, their expressions identical to his. Will surmises that it’s a familiar rant, perhaps more so since that they look like that they’ve heard it in all its different iterations before. He hadn’t thought that Nanosounds had friends outside of Pandora.

These friends work for her Mother too. He’s inclined to reserve his judgement of them until later. Something about the wary way Caff avoids glancing directly at him bothers Will, as with Chrissa’s subtly nudging to keep Nanosounds focused on the problem of her mother.

Normal people would be getting to know him at this point, unearthing his likes, hobbies and his history with Nanosounds. It’s almost like these two are buffering Nanosounds, deliberately keeping him out of the loop. 

He’ll have to dig deeper at the first chance. There’s no telling what he’ll find. Compared to being a Vault Hunter and a consultant, he could do that with one hand tied behind his back.

The rant concluded, Nanosounds sighs looking sheepish, clutching the cushion in her hands so that the silk creases as though it’s frowning at the rough treatment. “Sorry, didn’t mean to dump all that on you three.”

“You know what’ll cheer you up?” Chrissa proposes.

“Surprise!” Caff whips out a stuffed toy, tossing it over to Nanosounds. 

She catches it in one hand, turning it around to face her and promptly lets out a squeal that has Will wanting to clap his hands over his ears. It’s almost on the same level as Honeydew’s one upon seeing skag pups.“You got me another  _ icebird _ !”

Will’s eyes locate her miniature collection of stuff toys over on the bookshelves. A decent amount are an assortment of icebirds, arranged in a motley sagging cluster. He mentally adds ‘icebird’ to list of things Nanosounds’ likes, next to ‘teasing Lalna’. At this point, Lalna and Rythian are probably getting ready to sleep as with everyone on Pandora’s west coast.

Nanosounds leaves the cushion on the window seat, dropping her new friend off. “I think Billy just bought some bubble tea downstairs. If you wait, I’ll get some.” Clearly eager to make up for her ranting, Nanosounds heads for the bedroom door.

“You can just ask Billy to get it for you,” Will points out.

“Billy always forgets I like lots of pearls in mine!” Nanosounds is gone before Will can call her back.

That leaves Will alone with Caff and Chrissa. Caff leans back in his chair, surveying Will with a worried expression over the top of his glasses. When not grinning, Caff’s the picture of focused seriousness, every bit a savvy, professional corporate secretary.

Chrissa’s folded her arms over her chest, regarding Will coolly. The friendliness surrounding her’s no longer present, exchanged for coolness. Just as much as he’s been figuring them out, they’ve also done that in reverse.

“So, what’s your deal?” Will breaks the ice with as much cheer as he can muster.

“Nanosounds didn’t mention she’d be bringing anyone along back home with her,” Chrissa evenly says when Caff doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything.

“I thought she did,” Will says, blinking. “I get that this is pretty important to her, and I probably shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re right, you aren’t supposed to be here,” Chrissa curtly says. Caff’s eyes bounce between the two like he’s watching a ball being hit backwards and forwards on a court. Where it stops, nobody knows.

_ Rude.  _ “So what, I’m supposed to stay behind on Pandora and let her face her Mother on her own?” Will regards her steadily, sensing an undertone of protectiveness to Chrissa’s words.

“She’s got us,” Chrissa points out.

“Pardon me for saying this so openly, but you work for her Mother, which as as good as already being on her Mother’s side.” He matches her tone.

“We’ve known her longer than you have-”

“Also true, but have you ever fought alongside her?” Will leans forward. He doubts it, even if Chrissa’s a bodyguard. Bodyguards didn’t go throwing themselves into the front lines, not when it’d place their quarry at risk of being offed another way.

That makes her frown, not spotting what he’s up to. “What’s that got to do with-”

“Ever seen her powers?” Will persists.

“Only once,” Caff quietly says, flinching as Chrissa and Will turn to regard him with mild surprise for speaking up at last. “And it got her sent to Pandora. Or that’s we think.” Make that another clue to add to the growing pile.

Chrissa shushes Caff. “That’s in the past. She’s back now, so it’s going to be fine!”

“I think you two should tell me what’s  _ really _ going on.” A hand retrieves Will’s sunglasses, replacing them back on his head.

“And  _ why _ should we?” Chrissa fires at him.

“Because it’s pretty damn obvious you’ve been wanting to talk to her one on one and I’m clearly in the way.” Will leans back, relishing in the astonishment crossing over Chrissa and Caff’s faces. “Pardon me for being honest, but I really don’t want to hurt Nano’s feelings by getting off on the wrong foot with you two.” As much as he wants to make them squirm (and he’s been hanging too much around Parvis), the priority is to get them to tell him what they know.

“Well, well, he did say you were very observant,” Chrissa notes.

“Maybe just a little bit too much,” Caff adds, his gaze questioning Chrissa for how to proceed. This is clearly out of his depth. Not Chrissa’s, though.

“Alright. We’ll tell you what’s going on after dinner.” Chrissa holds up a hand once she sees him nod. “Not while Nanosounds is around. It might upset her.”

“I think she can handle whatever it is,” Will says, bluffing. “She doesnt like being kept in the dark, you know.”

“We know, Strife, we’re not such terrible friends as you think we are.” Chrissa grins, calling him out on his bluff. “Now let’s pretend we were all just joking around. Laugh once she comes in, ha ha ha.”

Will swallows the question of ‘who’s he?’. Pushing them for more information might incur a new level of suspicion and he’s already suspicious enough to the two. “I  _ think _ I can trust you two.”

“Besides, it’s not like you have any choice if you want to find out about what’s happening,” Chrissa says, turning to open up the window behind her. A salty wind wafts in, cooling the room and making her hair swirl around her shoulders.

“I’ll take the risk, and I also trust you that this isn’t a trap of some kind,” Will says, tapping a cuff link in warning while meeting her gaze. Chrissa has nothing else to say, her lips pursing together. Caff weakly grins at Will.

“Billy didn’t have any green tea for you, Caff, so I just got you…” Nanosounds wanders back into the room, bearing a silver tray with four large glasses of bubble tea. The unusual silence broken by Will’s laugh and Chrissa’s snort meets her like a wall. “Okay, what’s going on? Something  _ happened _ while I was gone.”

“Caff farted and poor Strife here almost fell out the window again in his haste to get away from the smell.” Chrissa pinches her nose, waving a hand around as if to disperse the ‘fart’. 

Will nods, pretending to gag when Nanosounds glances at him. “It’s true, it smelled worse than those purple pearls Zoeya was looking at!”

“It wasn’t that bad!” Caff protests, huffing, playing along.

“He doesn’t have a very good sense of smell,” Chrissa sadly says to Will.

“Caff, that’s  _ disgusting _ !” Nanosounds dumps the tray onto the table, moving past to air the room out with her hands.

“Hey, it was either keep it in and explode or…” 

As Caff and Nanosounds banter, Will watches Chrissa raise a hand to her ear. She frowns. “We need to get ready for dinner,” She interrupts Caff’s defensive retorts to rise. A glass is nabbed from the tray. “Thanks for the tea, we’ll see you down there!” She gives Nanosounds a warm smile as Caff also rises. Grabbing a glass of tea too, Caff nods at her, then at Will, scurrying out after Chrissa.

“I got an ECHO call coming.” Nanosounds picks up the call by holding her device out.

Her Mother’s face appears. Nanosounds’ face bears a second of split surprise breaking through before she smothers it under a brittle smile. If it’d been any more brittle, he could have smashed it over a knee.

“Mother! What could you possibly be calling me about?” Nanosounds sweetly asks.

“To remind you to wear something nice. You’ll find it in dressing room number five.” Mother’s calm words chase one another in Will’s ears, long after Nanosounds had thanked her and exited the call.

Nanosounds stomps down the hall almost the entire way there. Of course, Will tags along, not wanting to get left behind. He’s got the layout of the place mapped out to figure out which direction he should be going in if they do get separated.

“There’s nothing wrong with my suit, is there?” Nanosounds hisses, keeping her voice down to an indignant whisper.

“No, suits are great, especially yours,” Will whispers back. His own reason for whispering is that he doesn’t know who might be listening in. No longer does he trust these corridors to not have eyes or ears.

“It’d better not be a fucking dress,” She says, stopping in front of a door. Again, Will doesn’t ask how she knows that this is where they’re supposed to be. She grabs the knob, angrily enough to make it shudder and click as it gives way to her.

She shoves the door open and enters like a force to be reckoned with, stopping dead mid-stomp by the item waiting on its stand.

The dress is a work of art. Will’s seen designer dresses and this would definitely be in the top percentage. He pictures it in a display case, being auctioned off for at least a million dollars to hang in some closet or being shuttled from show to show.

Nanosounds is staring at the dress with the air of wanting to set it on fire with a glare. Will Strife is staring at the dress with the air of someone who is prepared to snatch it out of her hands if necessary, before a single precious fold can be damaged.

“I’m not wearing it,” She flatly says, slamming the door behind her. The room’s well-built, nary an item reacting to her anger. The door’s latch merely clicks into place.

“Hey,” Will starts, wincing at the sound.

“I’ve always worn a suit, and there is no way that I’m wearing a dress that  _ she _ designed!”

The numerous whorls on Nanosounds’s face and body flare up, lighting the room up with an intense flash of purple. Will forces his feet to remain where they are by her side, fighting off a spike of adrenaline, expecting a tentacle to appear at any second. The glow fades as Nanosounds sucks in a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she remembers whatever lesson she’d been taught. 

Just like Ravs had coached her: that’s it, bottle all that anger up so you can channel it when there’s nothing left but your fists, there’s blood all over you, your friends are down or nowhere, and it’s just your shield between you and  _ them _ , and frankly, breaking bones is just another way of getting the job done because bullets just do it faster but a punch to  _ here  _ and  _ here  _ also works nicely.

She’d worried about it not being healthy, that sort of emotional blockading. Ravs had stared at her before erupting into laughter, slapping her on the back and cheerfully pointed out, “So’s spending a single second on this bloody planet!”

“Do you  _ have _ to wear it?” Will tentatively asks once he’s sure that she’s not going to lose it.

“No, it’ll just disappoint her that I’m letting her down. Again,” Nanosounds admits. “ _ They _ didn’t tell me that this was ready, I’m going to-”

“Good, because I’m wearing it,” Will proposes, cutting off her train of thought before it can derail and she ditches the dinner to interrogate Caff and Chrissa about hiding this from her. If they’d known, that is; perhaps that explained why they’d been so eager to leave the room before that ECHO call.

With shoulders of lead, Nanosounds turns to face him with incredulity written all over her face. “Will, you can’t possibly fit in it.”

“Who do you think’s been asking Parvis to teach them a couple of tricks with needle and thread?” Will’s thumb meets his chest. A single stride places him by the stand. With care, like he’s handing a legendary weapon, the dress is removed from its stand. It hangs loosely in his hand as his eyes assess its silken folds. “I can make this fit me, if I just let it out here, here and here...” He mutters, perfectly aware that he’s committing a heinous crime in mortifying this dress (and his own words, ‘only to be fixed by a professional tailor’ echo in his mind).

“ _ Why  _ would you want to?” Nanosounds stares. He’s actually  _ serious _ . Just look at the look on his face. Lie detectors would explode if they came within a foot of him.

“I’ve always wanted a dress like this!” Will enthusiastically says, forget that fifteen minutes ago, he hadn’t wanted to ever own a dress. He’s fine with this one being the first, last and only dress in his wardrobe. “And it’d be a shame to let this masterpiece go to waste.” 

Done planning his modifications, he pulls out a portable sewing kit (consisting of whatever Parvis could spare, plus half-forgotten pleased babblings about what this could do, mind how sharp that one is, and would he like a thimble?).

“Will-” He’s doing this for  _ her _ and she wants to lift him off his feet and hang onto him because nobody else in her entire life’s sacrificed so much of themselves for her.

“No crying, I get enough of that from Parvis,” Will admonishes, albeit in a gentle tone. He begins to roll up his shirt sleeves, the kit hanging in his mouth by a leather strap. It’s spat out and caught in one hand.

“Wasn’t gonna cry,” Nanosounds lies, pretending she’s just wiping her face with the back of her hand.

He grins, choosing not to call her out on that. “Right, this shouldn’t take me long to adjust. Let’s both get all dolled up. See you in half an hour.”

Nanosounds shuts her mouth and mutely nods as Will steps behind the screen conveniently set up In the corner. “There’s shoes to go with them too.” White ones that match the dress sit in their velvet lined box under the stand.

“As much as I want to strut around in them, the shoes are a bit much,” comes Will’s distracted voice over the top of the screen. “I doubt they’d fit me anyway.” Anyway, her feet are far bigger than his. How such a tiny person (albeit one who could suplex him in a heartbeat) had wider feet beats him.

When Nanosounds exits the bathroom dressed in her best suit, she spots Will’s vest, jacket and pants slung over the top of the screen.

“Having trouble back there?” She almost steps behind the screen to help him out, stopped only by his authoritative voice. He could order a bandit to march with it (if the bandits were being held at gunpoint).

“No, you stay right where you are!” A red business shirt’s flung onto the pile of clothes adorning the screen’s edge.

“I can do up the zip in the back for you?” Nanosounds resists the temptation to lean on the screen and make it give way, if only to annoy Will rather than sneak a peek. 

Accidents tended to ‘happen’ around her. The simple explanation is that events had a way of conspiring to make her be seen as a terror to be beheld. The detailed explanation is that the universe likes to throw everything it can at her to make her life (and everyone else around hers) exceedingly difficult, with or without Siren powers being added to the mix.

“Relax, I got this, it’s just...your hips are wider than mine.” Will sounds like he’s laughing, and not at himself.

“What’s wrong with my perfect hips?” Nanosounds indignantly retorts.

“Nothing, nothing! They definitely don’t lie, that’s for sure.” She can hear the sound of a zip being drawn up, as well as Will grunting.

“Stay there, you son of a…” Whatever he’s muttering dies out. “Right. I’m done.”

Nanosound waits for him to step out. When he doesn’t, she frowns. “So, what’s the hold-up?”

There’s a contemplative pause, the kind where one knows that the other person is choosing their words with care because the wrong thing being said will be immortalised in minds. “Well, you have to not fucking crack up when I step out.”

“I won’t,” Nanosounds swears, waiting with bated breath. “Uh…” She stares when Will steps out. Well,  _ dang.  _ She’d been right about him looking good in anything. What she hadn’t gotten right was ‘how good he’d look’.

“So, how do I look?”

“You are going to turn heads  _ tonight _ .”

“Excellent, that’s what I was going for. Now let’s hustle, we have a dinner to attend.”

\--

Billy shuffles into the room in front of Nanosounds. Caff and Chrissa are waiting beside their designated chairs, as is Mother. Caff glances up, tension causing his clasped fingers to flex and fold behind his back. Better at controlling her own nervousness, Chrissa stands with a poker face.

“Nanosounds and Will Strife,” Billy announces in a loud quaver, ducking out of the room once Nanosounds and Will enter. There might have been a sharp exhale doubling as hastily suppressed laughter.

Mother’s eyebrows rise up to her hairline upon seeing Will. Will doesn’t see it, too busy concentrating on not tripping on his way over to the table. He reaches his spot without incident, managing to avoid knocking over the chair.

Everyone sits upon Mother taking her seat. Holding the menus, Billy makes his eventual way over to everyone with the pace of a tortoise who knows that it’ll get there in the end. It grants Will the time to catch Nanosounds’ eye. A nervous grin of his own finds itself appearing on his face. Nanosounds’ gnawing her lower lip with the ferocity of someone chewing on taffy, trying not to lose her shit.

Will takes a menu, opening it up. This is it, the moment of truth. This is where he’ll strut his stuff about all those different utensils used for- the menu is full of items similar to that of the noodles he’d had a few hours ago. None of it needs the fancy schmancy crap he’d been trying to memorise.

Nanosounds lets out a giggle. It’s stifled hastily with a hand. Under the table, Will pinches her, not too hard that it’ll cause her to cry out. She slaps his withdrawing hand. He glares at her, not for the slap (hardly painful, but guaranteed to continue stinging for a bit).

“Sorry,” She mouths out of the corner of her mouth.

“You’d better be,” is what his glare says.

Nanosounds lets out an exhale that shakes, gesturing sheepishly with a hand. Dropping the glare, Will forces a smile onto his face when he feels eyes on him, pretending to peruse the menu for the safest item to eat that won’t ruin the dress. 

Even the mere act of sitting in it makes it feel like he should be paying up for every minute spent wearing it. How about that, a coin operated dress? He’d make an absolute fortune in weddings and formal outings. If this is how inventors felt having an eureka moment while rubbing their hands together and having a satisfying chuckle at their own ingenuity, maybe he should become one.

Spotting Caff and Chrissa put in their orders, Will motions Billy over to order a set of seafood dumplings, plus a serving of steamed vegetables mixed with rice. Nanosounds submits hers as well, keeping her eyes averted to avoid laughing or giggling out loud when spotting Will in her peripheral vision.

Conversation proceeds with multiple false starts and abrupt stops, like a stalling car fighting a hill. When it does proceed, it sticks to neutral topics such as weekend plans, upcoming company functions (none of which Will knows about or is invited to and which Nanosounds politely declines), holidays and a whole host of other small ‘getting to know thy enemy’ talk that Will engages in if Caff or Chrissa direct it to him. 

Mother says little, her opinion limited to that of stock market fluctuations, the price of eridium off-world and other such inane business matters. Nothing personal. She does raise her fine eyebrows a fraction when Nanosounds states her intention to leave Hecate after the dinner. Caff and Chrissa express their disappointment at a short reunion, though appear to understand her decision.

Otherwise, Mother’s eyes sweep over her guests, including over Will. Her gaze lingers on Will a second too long for him; he resists the urge to adjust the chest area of his borrowed dress. 

It’d been made for a bustier person, and uh, he’ll stop thinking about Nanosounds’ chest because he’d had to flatten that bit out in a hurry or risk said part flopping down. He’s not here to flash anyone on accident, okay, least of all Nanosounds’ Mother.

What exactly is he here for, anyway, aside from providing moral support to Nanosounds? She seems to be holding her ground fine. On second thought, they’d had a few close calls since arriving.

Nanosounds is only human, after all, sans the whole ‘could summon beastly tentacles to menace whoever she wanted and the melt someone’s skin off by touching them’ deal.

The lack of strenuous effort to get Will to talk suits him fine since he’s having the time of his life playing rock, paper and scissors with Nanosounds under the table. He’s winning it for once.

Once Billy arrives, accompanied by a large cart, the conversation winds down. Will would have missed whatever Caff whispered to Chrissa if he hadn’t been paying attention, having just lost the ninth round to Nanosounds’ ambitious gamble on throwing out scissors instead of paper at the last second.

To Chrissa, Caff whispers in a semi-horrified tone, “I hope he doesn’t drop anything on that dress.”

Right, Will does have table manners and it’s time to  _ prove it.  _

If the dress had sleeves, he’d have rolled them up and prepared to dine like he’s never dined before: with strenuous politeness, please pass the sauce, the napkin’s ready to catch any stray drops, and heeding the physical position of his chopsticks at all times. It’d be a shame if he sent them flying across the room at some people cause they don’t think he can eat without splattering food everywhere.

He hasn’t even reached dessert yet.

Before he can pick up his chopsticks, his HUD lights up with an incoming call. It’s not a call he can ignore, stifling his surprise with an attention-getting cough. 

“Excuse me, I have an important call to attend to,” He dutifully informs his current company. The dress rustles as he stands up from his chair. He picks up the hem in one hand, ducking out through a side door that Billy holds opens for him. Billy might have been smiling at the care he’s taking not to tread on the hem.

In a room clearly meant to be some sort of entertainment lounge, Will finds a quiet corner after stepping around velvet lined chairs. He avoids leaning on the poker table to catch the folds on any bits sticking out. Parvis hasn’t taught him how to deal with larger tears yet.

The silken voice that speaks into his ear sends a chill running down his spine. “Mister Strife, it’s been a while since we last chatted, hm?”

“Lying,” Will says as a greeting, hoping that he doesn’t have video on because the last thing he wants right now is to have his employer’s secretary see him in a dress and wonder what Will’s gotten himself into. “It’s only been several months.” That is, it’d only been several months since Will chose to stay on Pandora, once he’d gotten Kirindave’s permission.

“Kirindave’s just completed the last of the amendments to your, ah, detailed report and needless to say, they’re very impressed with the quality of your work,” Lying informs Will, their voice as smooth as a snake slithering through tall strands of grass after prey. “ _ Especially _ the section about eridium exports.”

If it wouldn’t seem so rude, Will would have told Lying to stop fucking prattling and get to the point. He finds himself saying absently, “Ah yes, that. It was a last minute addition. I’m glad that Kirindave finds it useful.”

“And how did you get your hands on the data for that?”

It’s not lying (pun not intended, given who he’s talking to) if he’s spinning the story in another light. “Professional connections. Nothing illegal, I can assure you,” Will reassures.

“Ah yes, connections. I hear you recently became acquainted with one Nanosounds of Flux Inc., which I’m sure has come in very useful.” Will can imagine the smirk spreading across Lying’s smug face. Of course Lying would know when someone’s telling a big fat one.

Will also knows Lying is simply trying to get a rise out of him. He swallows a smartass retort, settling for, “She’s actually a pretty decent person once you get to know her.” He’s pleased with the lack of any defensiveness in his own tone.

“Good, because you’ll need all the friends you can get, Mister Strife,” Kirindave warns.

“Kirindave!” Will almost drops the call, startled by his employer’s sudden presence. Composure fragile to begin with since the start of the call, Will fumbles for something to say. “I had no idea you were here!”

“Sorry for scaring you, I’ve actually been here from the start.” Kirindave lets out a hearty chuckle that lacks any embarrassment, perhaps used to the blunders. “I accidentally muted myself and Lying didn’t tell me until now.”

“It’s not my fault if you fail to get the hang of your new ECHO device,” Lying observes, sounding not at all sorry for informing Kirindave of their error until several minutes into the conversation.

“We’ll have to have a talk about that tendency of yours to embarrass me in front of my guest, Lying.”

“As you wish,” Lying amiably responds. “You know where to find me.”

“Anyway, Strife, as I was saying, you’ll need help.”

“This isn’t related to my report, is it?” Will hitches up the dress on his hip. The fabric’s slipping down since he doesn’t have the curvier bone structure of the person it’d been made for. He’s also thanking whoever is looking out for him that he hasn’t snapped at or been rude to Lying.

“No, it’s not. As Lying mentioned, your report is fantastic! It really opens up new avenues of investment for Maliwan! All it takes is a few more revisions and it’ll be good to submit to the board...” Kirindave eagerly rambles.

“Kirindave, we have only five minutes left on the line,” Lying reminds with a tactfulness that other secretaries would have paid millions for.

“Sorry, I got a little off track there. Strife, you should have stopped me.”

“What can I say, I liked the part where you praised my report writing abilities,” Will says. Seriously, he’s being praised. He could have afforded to hear a few more seconds of that.

“We’ve noticed some odd activity coming from an old rival of mine based over at Hyperion.”

“And who would this be?” Will’s not exactly up to date on Hyperion’s doings, given how often the corporation cycled through people.

The corporate environment encourages a cutthroat attitude. The second a vacancy appeared, people would be hacking and slashing left and right in an attempt to make it theirs. 

Will can almost say that it’s almost deliberate of the higher-ups to cultivate such a dangerously competitive atmosphere. It’s one reason why he chose to steer clear of joining up with any of them, regardless of how good the gym memberships are. 

Kirindave’s been hinting that it’d better for Will to permanently join up with Maliwan. Will will pretend that no such offer’s ever been made to him. It’s becoming a running joke between the two of them, for Kirindave to make the offer at least once every time they call.

“Ridgedog,” Kirindave says, waiting for the name to ring a bell in Will’s mind. 

The bell’s been taken down, polished and forgotten to be restored to its rightful place. His mind sheepishly steps away from it as it gently dings, as it should be when involving Kirindave.

“I’m not familiar with them,” Will admits. He’d only ever seen that name once. It’d been when he’d been passing through Helios, on an employee board with the plaque neatly declaring ‘Head of Research and Development’.

“No? That’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Kirindave clicks a pen. “Just be careful of someone called ‘Sjin’.”

“Sjin? Of SipsCo.?” Now that’s a name Will’s slightly more familiar with. “That company’s one of the largest exporters of eridium off Pandora. It wasn’t established there too long ago either.”

“Bingo,” Kirindave says. “Sjin’s been doing a number of unusual deals beyond the scope of his company. Lying tells me that Sjin recently approached the head of Flux Inc., to make an offer.”

“He was very insistent she accept it,” Lying contributes. “Which she surprisingly did.” There’s a hint of interest in their tone, which serves to tell Will that Mother accepting the deal had gone against expectations.

“How do you know?” Will doesn’t meant to be skeptical, even if it’s worthwhile information he’s getting from his employer. Or employers.

“Nice try, but that would be giving away Maliwan secrets, Strife.” Kirindave laughs, softening the chastising. Will suspects Lying’s personal involvement in the information gathering. “I’d like you to find out what Sjin’s up to and if you wouldn’t mind, preparing it as a separate report.”

“This isn’t a report for the board, is it?”

“Please, the board isn’t interested in a petty, long-running squabble between two rival heads of R and D.”

“Right.”

“Two minutes, Kirindave,” Lying prompts. A keyboard clicks as they type away. Will thanks that they’re preparing a transcript. Knowing Lying, it’s probably going to include all of the embarrassment he’s suffered through. Kirindave’s own blunders will be highlighted, just to rub it in.

Will’s blunt skepticism earns another laugh. “Time to wrap this up. You find what Sjin’s up to, and definitely do not tell the board what I’m doing. I’ll reward you for it.”

“That’d be nice, since this isn’t my...” Will pauses to search for a term that won’t make them rethink the job they’re giving to him, “usual kind of job.”

As though sensing his hesitation, Kirindave brightly says, “Just to help you out, I’m sending over some parts for your Atomic turret, including a particularly interesting attachment.”

“You know about the turret?” That wouldn’t surprise Will. It’s the bit where Kirindave’s managed to obtain parts that does.

“Strife, whatever used to be Atlas tech is either rusting in a junkyard, being analysed in a lab or sitting pretty in a trophy case. You’re lucky that I managed to get this before it fell into Vladof hands or our own department snapped it up.”

“What about me?” Lying points out in a bland (that might double as their joking) tone. “You’ve never given  _ me _ any presents, even after I covered your messy tracks.”

“We can talk about that later too,” Kirindave says as an obvious attempt to placate Lying.

“One could say that you’re playing  _ favourites _ with Strife,” Lying fondly responds.

“The only favourites I’m playing is with people who get their work done on time, which is what Strife’s been doing exceptionally well.”

“I do that too.”

Sure enough, a delivery arrives in Will’s inventory. That seals the deal. “Alright, I”ll try my best.” Not that he’s minding the bickering, taking the time to open the delivery. Hm, that’ll take some time to install, being that hefty and bulky. “You didn’t happen to find an instruction manual for the turret too, did you?”

That breaks up the bickering. “No manual’s been included,” Lying recalls. “If there was one, it was probably destroyed during Atlas’ downfall.”

“Was worth a shot,” Will says. Not that he needs the manual to do any tinkering, it’d just expedite the process, not having to play the ‘is it this wire or that wire’ game or all its variations.

“Excellent. I have faith in you. Your report should be included as part of the package, as to not arouse suspicion that we had this lovely chat,” Kirindave says. “I’ll be expecting the amended version whenever.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch if I have any problems or if I find out anything.”

“Good luck, Strife,” Kirindave bids. “That reminds me, you still want to join Maliwan? I can put in a word for you...”

“My answer still remains a firm ‘no’,” Will declines, smiling.

“I thought you’d say that.” Kirindave heaves a theatrical sigh, not sounding that disappointed in the rejected offer. “Well, remember that friends are good, not bad.”

“Indeed. You’d do well to remember that, Mister Strife. Goodbye from the both of us,” Lying says, all indignation at Kirindave’s favouritism absent.

Will lowers his hand, making sure that the call’s properly ended. He turns his head to take in a familiar shape ducking behind a chair. Drawing a pistol, Will advances on the chair, dodging arm rests and low coffee tables. In the light of the room, the dress is a shade reflective, bringing to mind a romantic nighttime stroll along the beach. Here, he’s annoyed that he can’t see with the dim parlour lighting. It takes him five seconds to track down the shadow tailing him, looming over them.

“Don’t make me shoot you, Caff,” Will warns, using his ‘I’m not in a talkative or negotiating mood’ tone. It’d achieved results. Results are what he wants, right now.

“Please don’t actually do that, I’d prefer it if my blood stayed inside me.” A guilty Caff emerges with hands held up high, perspiring at the forehead and neck.

“How long were you listening for?”

“Only the last part, where you said ‘no’,” Caff readily reveals. 

“Why were you following me?”

Caff swallows, his voice shaking with terror at the gun levelling between his eyes. “I came to talk to you, as Chrissa said we’d do after the dinner.”

“Where’s Chrissa?” Will almost expects her to step out of the shadows. Where’s Caff’s bodyguard?

“She stayed behind to look after Nanosounds and her Mother.”

The pistol lowers. “So, spill, why’re you and her acting so weirdly?”

Caff takes a deep breath, blurting, “Because Nanosounds’ Mother made a deal that I think you should know about!”

“What deal, and with whom?” Will’s eyes flick to the active radar in his HUD. There’s blips of movement, none of which he can figure out is real or not, up until the door to the room slams open, almost being ripped from its hinges as people pour in with drawn guns.

“Sjin-” Caff’s silenced by the gun aiming at his head.

“Hands up, both of you. Heh, well, only one of you.” A gruff voice standing behind Will orders. Will says nothing, letting the pistol in his hand drop to the floor. It’s kicked under a chair by the mercenary holding a gun to Will’s head. “Nice dress.”

“Thanks,” Will automatically says, knowing that it’s not a compliment.

Caff makes a sound approximating a squeak at other mercenaries piling into the room. A chair skids across the floor when it gets the way. Will says nothing as he’s frisked by the mercenary, the mercenary’s gloved hands patting down the voluminous folds of the dress. Thankfully, the searching hands goes nowhere near Will’s hips.

The mercenary does, however, give Will a swift, appreciative pat on the rear. “Couldn’t resist, it’s just habit, you see-” They chuckle, earning a couple of raucous laughs from the others.

Calmly, Will stamps downwards, putting as much force as he can into the pointed heel. He can feel a layer give under the heel. It hits softness that resists him before the heel’s stopped by a thicker, solid layer. An agonising shriek tells him that he’s successful. 

Will reaches under his dress. He extracts his faithful turret, dropping it on the spot and tackling Caff behind a chair. All in the span of ten seconds.

He covers Caff with his whole body, the room lighting up with gunshots, the terrifying teeth shaking and mind-numbing rattle of his turret’s machine gun and lots of panicked screaming. 

Fifteen long minutes later, Will rolls off one shaking Caff, rising to his feet. A couple of shots smoke on Will’s shield, the spent rounds clinking as they hit the torn carpet. Otherwise, he and Caff are fine, if somewhat ruffled.

“Urgh, these shoes are killing my feet,” Will grouses. The heels are kicked off, picked up and tossed into his inventory. It leaves him standing there in his bare feet, regardless of the threat of splinters, bits of chair and numerous dead bodies littering the carpet. He waves a hand, returning his smoking turret to his inventory.

“I- right, where were you hiding your  _ turret _ ?” Caff asks, shaking like Will after he’s drunk five cups of caffeine during an all-nighter. He also rises, making a strangled sound at the destruction all around him.

“You don’t want to know,” Will hastily responds, retrieving his dropped pistol and exchanging it for a rifle. He loots a few of the bodies for ammo, nodding at the busted door. A moment is spent staring at the logos on jackets and armor. When Caff spends a quiet moment staring at a headless corpse leaking blood all over the busted pool table, Will encourages, “Come on, we need to find Nanosounds and tell her what’s happening.”

“Yes, yes, that sounds good! You lead the way, if you don’t mind,” Caff stammers, graciously allowing Will to leave the room ahead of him. He almost trods on Will’s heels in trying to keep up, whimpering as he steps over the bodies on the way out.

Will’s radar tells him that there are an awful lot of people entering the mansion, all of them headed towards him.

“Do you know whose those mercenaries belonged to?”

“No, I wouldn’t have a clue!” A burst of gunfire from around the corner causes Caff to throw himself against the wall. Not bothered, Will peers around the corner and tosses a grenade. A smoke alarm goes off, as well as tinkling glass that tells Will that he’s just destroyed an priceless antique or two. He’s sure that those are insured.

“They were a mix of Hyperion goons, plus a couple from the Panda clan,” Will says to Caff, resisting the urge to rub it in by adding ‘I bet your fancy business school didn’t teach you  _ that’ _ .

“The Panda clan?”

“A clan of mercenaries that operate in the inner worlds. They’re the best of the best,” Will recalls. “Pretty pricey.”

“Do you think Sjin…?” Caff trails off.

“If you think so, then yes, Sjin probably sent them here,” Will grimly confirms. “Why, I’d like to know.”

“They’re here for you.”

“Me?” Glowering, Will rounds on Caff, the gun landing on Caff’s chest. “Was this just a set-up to separate me and Nanosounds?” He’s not angry, merely disappointed that they'd let him down like this.

“No!” Caff reacts by dancing back, the barrel of the gun following his suit’s chest pocket.

“Leave him alone, he’s got nothing to do with this,” Chrissa threatens, the barrel of her shotgun jabbing into Will’s back. Forget his shield, it’ll just blow right through it and possibly, the rest of him.

“And you?” Will refuses to lower his gun, not letting his fear at how she’d snuck up on him. If she shoots, he’s going to damn well make sure that Caff goes with him. His patience’s been stretched thin with everything already.

“I don’t either.”

“I don’t like it when people lie to me. Important thing,  _ feelings,”  _ Will dryly says. “It’s what stopping me from making you regret having a gun to my back.”

“I won’t need to shoot if you come along with me, Mister Strife, because Nanosounds needs you.”

“Fair point.” Will allows himself to be led along the halls by a wary Chrissa with an anxious Caff bringing up the rear. The trip remains free of trouble, especially with Chrissa and Will keeping an eye out for any approaching mercenaries and soldiers.

Chrissa brings him to all the way to the top floor of the building. A couple of rooms are sequestered here, the lamps in the hall turned off so that shadows swim. Will’s imagination remains helpful by providing impressions of people and creatures waiting to pounce. The three stick to the walls, following Chrissa’s careful lead as she leads them to the end of the hallway.

The reflective metal plate on the mahogany double doors inform him that this office belongs to Mother.

A knock from Chrissa causes Billy’s muffled voice to ask, “Who’s there? Chrissa?” Will has to hand it to Billy to not sound panicky in all this.

“Yes, it’s me, I have Strife and Caff here!” Chrissa shouts.

“Oh thank…” Billy’s fading voice is difficult to make out through the wood so Will misses out on what they say.

Billy opens the doors to hurriedly allow Will and Caff to slip in. Chrissa slips away with her gun, the darkness closing around her. The doors are locked as a stoic Billy moves to sit in a chair by the door, a Jakobs shotgun across their lap.

Nanosounds’ Mother is standing with her back to the room, arms drawn up over her chest. The curtains have been pulled over the lone window. A chandelier set in the ceiling lights up the room, the glow reminding Will of a fire burning low, about to go out if a breeze swept across it.

There, in the center of the room with such rage causing her shoulders to shake from containing it, is Nanosounds.

Aware that he’s still wearing the dress, Will crosses the room to her side. “Nano!”

“Will!” The rage is replaced by genuine surprise. “Where have you been?” Eyes filled with concern take in his appearance.

He thinks about betraying Caff and Chrissa’s hidden plot to separate them. No, he’s not that vindictive; they’d made up for that by bringing him back to her. “Never mind that, there’s mercs and Hyperion soldiers storming the place, apparently trying to kill me!”

“Well, I’d prefer dealing with that because  _ someone  _ isn’t letting me go back to Pandora with you!” As she speaks, her voice rises to an accusing shout.

“As I said, I’m shutting down operations on Pandora,” Mother calmly says without turning from her position by the window.

“But what about all my work?” Nanosounds’ hands meet the wood on the desk, causing items to take each other’s places. Will spies a photocopy of a familiar page, almost like the one he’d pulled out of her diary. It’s covered up by a folder when Nanosounds slams her hands against the wood. “The  _ work _ that  _ you  _ had me do? We were about to challenge SipsCo.!”

“Your presence is no longer needed on Pandora to do all that. From now on, all assigned personnel on Flux Inc. will withdraw from that planet. That includes you.”

“You can’t just tell me that all that is now nothing in all those months I spent there!”

“It’s not for nothing.”

“Then why are you keeping me  _ here _ with Will?”

“I’ll explain later.” Mother gives Nanosounds a piercing look that has her shutting up. “Chrissa, the papers.”

Will starts when Chrissa ghosts past him; he hadn’t heard her enter the room. “Here.” Chrissa hands a yellow envelope that Will recognises as belonging to Hyperion. From inside it, Mother pulls out a bundle of papers to spread them across the desk.

“What are you signing?” Nanosounds asks, grounding out the question from disbelief. The merging agreement is staring her in the face. Mother lifts a fountain pen up, appearing to examine it for any defects.

“Hang on, you can’t sign that,” Will hastily says.

“And why shouldn’t I, Mister Strife?”

“Because you can’t trust Sjin, who probably sent you that agreement,” Will says, not letting the earlier humiliation stop him from speaking up. “It’s probably fake or has some sort of diabolical catch!” That's the best he can do without divulging how he knows.

“Is it?” Mother says, frowning. “It doesn’t look like a forgery, and Sjin sounded rather serious about his offer.”

“You can call him and check!” Caff weakly urges from the side of the room.

“I may very well do so.” Mother lifts her hand. A moment later, a screen pops out from her monitor, filling one whole wall. Everyone in the room turns their head to watch it connect to Sjin.

The resulting feed reveals Sjin seated in an office chair, surveying them over steepled hands. A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes graces his lips. He doesn’t seem that shocked to see them all. He’s in a Hyperion branded office.

Nanosounds snarls, pointing a finger at Sjin. “You!”

“Ma’am, as per our agreement, you have your daughter back,” Sjin smoothly says, ignoring Nanosounds. Being ignored makes Nanosounds’ tattoos flare; Will reminds her of their precarious position by nudging her with an elbow. She shoots him a grateful look.

“Indeed I do.” Mother regards Sjin with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “She also brought a Vault Hunter, as you said she would.”

Caff and Chrissa turn to one another, shooting surprised glances at Nanosounds and Will. The two return the glance. Caff mouths ‘what the fuck’ at Will. Will shrugs, just as lost as he is.

“If you’re satisfied, then please sign the papers. I’m sure you have matters to arrange in regards to your company merging with SipsCo,. after all.” Sjin examines his fingernails, paying no attention to anyone who isn’t Mother. “And hand the Vault Hunter over to the armed gentlemen assisting in making sure that Will Strife don’t take any further hostages.”

“...You thought I took your daughter hostage?” Will asks, causing Mother to turn to face him.

“Correct.”

“And Sjin said that he’d get Nano back if you merge your company with his?”

“Also correct.”

“Will’s my friend! He wouldn’t take me hostage!” Nanosounds protests, watching Will’s horrified conscience try to reconcile how Mother reached that conclusion. “And if he did, I’d wallop him so hard that he’ll see Vaults!”

“Uh...thanks?” Will says to her. Being punched isn’t that nice. Being stuck up for is.

“But your letters,” Mother says, her expression revealing a trace of uncertainty. “They were so short, an obvious cry for help.”

“That’s Sjin’s doing, I’m afraid,” Will points out. “He probably told you that she didn’t want to tell you too much about Pandora just in case you didn’t want her to stay.”

“What Will said!” Nanosounds huffs. “And I never needed help.” More softly, she says in a hurt tone, “How could you ever think I was in trouble?”

“You never had those scars either.” Mother reaches up to touch her own face, reflecting the scars on Nanosounds’ own. The ones Mother’s referring to happened when the Goliath lieutenant almost killed Nanosounds.

“Well, she’s clearly traumatised by the ordeal and is likely suffering from Stockholm,” Sjin says.

“Perhaps she is.” Mother’s hand moves to the pen she’s holding, taking the lid off to reveal the nib.

“Mother, please don’t sign those papers.” Nanosounds’ gaze darts to the marbled pages, Will knowing that she’s wondering if she can grab the papers and set them on fire before anybody can do anything about it. “Whatever scars I got on Pandora, those were my fault. Nobody caused them but me,” She pleads.

“She’s telling the truth,” Chrissa puts forth.

“Will saved me,” Caff adds. “If anyone’s at fault, it’s Sjin!” That fully redeems the two in Will’s eyes.

“How rude.” Offended, Sjin looks up from his fingernails. “I filled my end of the deal and nobody got hurt.”

“Are you sure?” Mother looks at Nanosounds, holding her gaze. Will can’t say what’s being said between them.

“Yes,” Sjin impatiently says.

“I realize how I might sound. I apologise, Sjin, but our deal no longer stands, with the methods you’ve used. Still, I thank you for bringing my daughter back.” Mother puts down the pen, reaching over to pick up the contract. She cleanly tears it in half, letting the fragments flutter to the carpet.

Sjin’s eyes flick to the bits of paper, eventually flicking upwards to Mother’s stern expression. He leans back, sighing. “I thought this might happen. You have one last chance to sign before the soldiers arrive at your office. I included a backup in the envelope I sent. After that, I don’t care what happens to you-”

“Chrissa, if you wouldn’t mind?” Mother asks without turning. 

“With pleasure, ma’am.” Chrissa strides forward, a match held up. She holds up the flickering end to the envelope, letting the flame readily consume the papers. The ashes join the mess on the floor.

“Well, it’d be nice if you let me finish what I was saying,” Sjin huffs. “As I was saying, I don’t care what happens to you, seeing as I already have what I want.”

“Have what?” Nanosounds asks. Chrissa turns off the lighter, rejoining Caff’s side.

Sjin smiles, holding up his hand. A hologram of Rythian’s trinket appears in his palm, steadily rotating on the spot. “It’s a shame this little side project with Flux Inc. didn’t quite pan out the way I wanted it to. Rythian and Lalna were much more cooperative.”

Nanosounds lunges at the screen, stopped by Will grabbing onto the back of her suit. “What did you do to Rythian and Lalna, you fucking-”

“Language,” Mother swiftly reminds.

“I daresay you’ll find out in good time. Goodbye!” Sjin says, cutting the call on a smug chuckle.

Will lets go of Nanosounds, causing her to stumble against the desk. “We need to go back to Pandora-”

Billy’s soft voice says, “Ma’am, there are soldiers in the corridor. The traps won’t keep them occupied for long.”

“You booby-trapped the hall?” Will turns to Chrissa.

Chrissa shrugs. “My Atlas training came in useful while you were talking to Sjin.”

“I helped with all the tripwires!” Caff chimes in.

“Mother, I’m staying, you can’t stay here and defend-” That’s Nanosounds, realising what’s going to happen.

“We’ll help,” Will volunteers at the stricken look on her face.

“My dear, you underestimate your Mother.” Mother reaches behind a desk to withdraw an assault rifle, reloading it. “Your ancestors didn’t just fight through the Corporate Wars only to die with you and I.”

Will and Nanosounds recover from their shock. Nanosounds shouts, almost accusingly, “You didn’t like it when I used guns!”

“Only because you prefer the SMGs over rifles,” Mother says, with a hint of a rare smile. “Rifles are much more reliable.”

“SMGs have less recoil,” Nanosounds mumbles.

“I’ve always regretting not having a hand in your passion for guns,” Mother laments. “Now, you are leaving for Pandora.”

“No, I’m not.” Nanosounds glances up, her gaze defiant. “I change my mind, I’m not going.”

Mother goes on like she hasn’t heard her, “It’s a shame that I never got to see you in that dress-”

“What dress?” Will can feel Nanosounds’ eyes on him as he reloads his rifle.

“The one your friend is currently wearing. Didn’t you realize?” Mother sighs. “Never mind, that’s not important.”

“What? Tell me!”

Will gently says, “This dress is the same one in your childhood diary.”

“Oh.” Openmouthed, Nanosounds stares at her Mother, who nods.

“No dress can ever completely cover your tattoos, but perhaps this one could have made you feel that they weren’t there,” Mother laments. “I also realise that you never needed my protection. Still, a mother can’t help but worry sometimes.”

Chrissa is advising Caff on how to shoot a gun, Caff looking intense and nodding as she corrects his hold on the shotgun.

Billy is counting the stock of gathered ammo. Will empties out half of his own stock onto the pile, earning a snappy salute from Billy. Will has a whispered conversation with them, resulting in Billy digistructing a portable screen.

With a grunt, Will lugs it off to a corner, disappearing behind it. The dress is hung up on the screen. A minute later, Will steps out in his original suit, old combat boots, adjusting his tie and pushing his sunglasses into place on his head.

The dress is stuffed into his inventory. Will thanks Billy, making his way back over to Nanosounds.

Nanosounds looks back at Mother. “Come with us!” She urges, grabbing her Mother’s arm. Before, she was livid. Now she’s deeply scared of what the future holds.

Mother shakes her head, placing a hand atop Nanosounds’ one. “Nanosounds, I need to stay here and protect the staff and company.”

“We can rebuild!” Nanosounds tries again, wrapping her hand around her Mother’s. “We’ll protect you on Pandora!”

“If we run, we’ll have lost, and you need to stop whatever Sjin is planning and save your other friends. Rythian and Lalna, was it?”

“You did read my letters,” Nanosounds’ voice creaks under the weight of all the emotion behind it. Mother remembers Rythian and Lalna, in spite of having never seen a picture of them.

“Every single one of them.” Her Mother smiles. “They made a long day worth it, just to hear from you.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Nano-” Will tugs on her sleeve. “We need to go, they’ve breached the-” A muffled explosion and screams cause the chandelier to swing to and fro, glass tinkling.

“I’m not leaving!” She snaps at him. He lets go of her sleeve to draw back as her tattoos stutter. 

Mother disentangles her hands from Nanosounds’, her fingers lingering for a second before drawing away. “I’m afraid you’ll have to, if you want to get out of here in time.” She strides over to a bookcase, tugging on a volume. The bookcase creaks open, revealing an alcove with a Fast Travel Station sequestered within.

“Ma’am, that’s so cool,” Will admires.

“Always have an escape plan,” Mother quotes. “My own mother used to say that.”

“Mom, we’ll be back,” vows Nanosounds.

“Do take care of her, Strife.”

“Will do, ma’am,” Will acknowledges, pointedly nudging Nanosounds towards the Fast Travel Station. 

With one last glance (it’s just dust from the alcove getting in her eyes, that’s all), Nanosounds enters in the code for Pandora, Sanctuary Hole. Before the light engulfs her, she spies her Mother serenely smiling over Will’s shoulder.

\--

The next time Will opens his eyes, he’d expected to feel the crunch of dirt under his boots. What he gets is a steel floor. Sanctuary Hole did not have a steel floor and even if it did, it wouldn’t be that clean. 

“Wha?” Will exhales, dead sure that he’d punched in the code correctly. The air here feels closed in, chilled and not at all like Pandora’s warm, sand-riddled wind. 

It’s a luxury that’d been welcomed at any other time.

“This isn’t Sanctuary Hole!” Nanosounds exclaims, glancing around the room that they’re in. “Hey!” She shouts, her outraged voice echoing in the chamber. “What’s going on? Hello?”

The room is rectangular, a large boxy space with walls that moved at the edge of Will’s vision. He reaches out with both hands, moving one cautious step at a time until his fingers meet the barrier. 

“Ouch!” He cries out, withdrawing his hand to shake it. The barrier fizzles in satisfaction at warning him that yes, it’s exactly as he suspects: he and Nanosounds are trapped inside of it.

“Will!” Nanosounds grabs his hand, examining it. He tugs it out of her grip before she can whip out a medkit and play doctor.

“It’s fine, just a minor burn.” Will lifts his head to glance at her, his mouth set in a line. “More importantly, we’re stuck in here.”

A screen lights up on the wall above their heads. The two of them whirl to face it, not knowing what to expect. 

Beaming, Sjin waves at them. “Hello again!”

“Let us out!” Nanosounds shouts at him, her mouth pulled back in a snarl.

“Or else what? You’ll spike me?” Sjin taunts, wagging a finger. “Tut, tut, violence isn’t very nice.” He puts down his hand, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Those are famous last words coming from a man who’s talking to us through a screen,” Will scoffs. “Why don’t you come down here and chat to us, face to face?”

“I’m afraid I have better things to do,” Sjin responds. “Like preventing you from getting that report to Kirindave and Lying.”

Will doesn’t quite disguise his shock fast enough, eliciting a smirk from Sjin.

“As for you, Siren, I haven’t heard back from your mother, so I take it that she’s regretting not signing that deal.” He laughs.

Nanosounds lets out an incoherent, primal sound, spawning waves upon waves of enormous, nearly ceiling high tentacles that surround her. Purple goo splatters onto the floor, spreading from each tentacle and outwards. Each tentacle slams into the barrier, causing it to hiss from the impact. 

“I said, let us  _ out _ !”

Not batting an eyelid, Sjin leans back in his chair, viewing her as if she’s a mere spectacle rather than someone to fear. “If I were you, I’d remember who’s in the cell with you,” He calmly says.

Nanosounds freezes. Right that second, she notices the tiny red dot appearing on the barrier. It hovers over her right shoulder in spite of the translucent wings appearing along her back. She turns, dreading what she might see.

Will’s backed up into a corner without touching the barrier. His turret is out, deploying its full range of weapons. The primed machine gun and missiles are pointed right at her. Beyond it, Will’s face is chalk-white with fear (and it’s the dam all over again, from the haunted look in his eyes).

“Oh, Will, I’m so sorry, I never meant-” In spite of the newly forming migraine from the mass summoning, she despawns the tentacles, taking one step towards him with empty hands.

The turret whines in warning. “I-it’s fine,” Will stammers, lying through his teeth. The turret remains where it is.

Clearly entertained, Sjin claps, applauding their ability to turn on each other. “Wonderful! It looks like friendship will prevail over you two killing each other. Don’t worry, you two won’t be in there long. It’ll only be until Lalna brings the Vault Key to me.”

“Lalna wouldn’t betray Rythian!” Nanosounds shouts at him, displacing her anger onto Sjin rather than at Will. The turret’s red dot steadily follows her as she strides back over to the barrier, glaring at Sjin.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Siren,” Sjin softly says. His chair creaks as he leans forward. “I almost forgot to tell you that this prison’s specially made for your kind. It’s all thanks to Hyperion’s previous specimen.”

“What previous specimen?” Nanosounds forces herself to ask. Over in the corner, Will shuts his eyes. Next to no information about other Sirens exists, beyond what the corporations permitted or what went around in the underground information markets. It doesn’t surprise him that Nanosounds wouldn’t know anything revelatory about her kind.

“It happened here, on this planet.” Sjin’s fingers drum against his armrest. His soft, velvet voice draws Nanosounds and Will in. “Did you know that they imprisoned a Siren and pumped her full of eridium until she died? It’s all very interesting, I’ll send a copy of the report over. It didn’t seem to matter that she was someone’s precious daughter. That could have been you, but it looks like your mother got sentimental, even if you’re a threat to the whole universe.”

Nanosounds’ heart keeps beating as it is, refusing to be lured into panicking in spite of Sjin’s baiting, horrible words. “She wouldn’t. She’s never asked me to use my  _ powers _ .”

“Do you want to know why?” Will wishes that he could make Sjin shut up. “No two Sirens will ever have the same powers! So even from the second you were born, you were a disappointment to her.”

“...Born?”

“She gave birth to you, after several rounds of unsuccessful IVF.” Sjin reaches over to withdraw a paper from the massive orderly pile besides him, flipping it around to face the screen. 

“I thought-” Nanosounds can’t bear to finish her train of thought once her eyes find the photograph clipped to the corner of the paper.

A high resolution photograph of an infant Nanosounds lies sleeping in a hospital crib, bundled up and dozing peacefully. Tubes and machinery fill the space around the crib. A familiar hand is gently brushing the fuzzy, dark tuft of hair on her head aside. Her tattoos are a light blue, not the permanent shade of light purple as they are now. 

Sjin shifts the photograph aside to show the monochrome copy of the birth certificate underneath. “You never knew? You thought she adopted you?” He makes it sound like she’s an idiot for never bothering to find out. “Well, I don’t blame her. I suppose she didn’t want it getting out that she gave birth to a monster.” Sjin flicks the paper over his shoulder, his cold eyes still locked onto hers. 

“Hey,” Will whispers, trying to get Nanosounds’ attention. He’s ignored.

“I mean, a famous CEO working in the newly discovered eridium extraction industry, never mind how Sirens are randomly  _ born,  _ not made, giving birth to one after trying to have a child but failing so many times. Did she get mutated in an accident? Was it sabotage? Can you imagine how the stocks would plummet if that got out? And all the questions? Large companies have died in less than a day due to smear campaigns.”

“I am not a monster!” She has less conviction in her voice this time. “She never hid me either!”

“Do you remember ever being let out of the house before you were five?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean…” 

“Do you remember holding eridium, perhaps when you were very small?”

“It’s never reacted to me. Never.” Nanosounds is gouging out marks on the palms of her hands, thanks to her nails.

“There you go, she was ashamed  _ and _ disappointed-” A rattle of gunfire explodes, the rounds drowning out Sjin’s words. Sjin blinks, dropping his smile for a frown. It’s directed at Will Strife, who’s aiming his turret at the screen.

“Stop antagonising her with all your hypothetical bullshit,” Will says in a low voice. “Shit’s complicated, but that doesn’t mean you can speak for her  _ or _ her mother.”

“You’re just wasting ammo,” Sjin disdains.

“My turret has infinite ammo,” Will reveals, glaring at Sjin. “That barrier can’t stay up forever, especially if I keep shooting at it.”

“True.” Sjin considers him, tilting his head to one side. “It’s like what the Siren said. You are full of surprises.” He smiles, steepling both hands. “Try shooting now.”

Will unloads a round of machine gun bullets; the bullets bounce off the barrier and back at him. He flings a hand up, the turret spawning a crimson shield. The bullets meet it with a hair-raising sound as they’re reabsorbed.

Nanosounds drops her hands from when she’d flung them over her head. The tentacle (bleeding purple) curling around her drops, not quite vanishing. Neither Will or Nanosounds expected the bullets to be deflected by the barrier.

“I can see why Atlas decommissioned all the Atomic turrets. If one fell into the wrong hands, they’d be out of the weapons game,” Sjin says, a hint of admiration in his tone.

“That’s not the only thing it can do.” Will proudly pats the turret lightly vibrating besides him.

“I’ll just have to pick it off your corpse, then.” Sjin turns his attention back to Nanosounds. “So, want to try that move of yours again, perhaps with Mister Strife assisting you?”

Nanosounds raises both hands, Will drawing a rifle. Both of them aim at Sjin.

“I almost forget this as well!” Sjin pretends to comically slap his own forehead with a hand. “It’ll take  _ everything _ you both have to break out of that barrier, but only if you want to sacrifice each other in the process.” Will and Nanosounds glance at each other, the implications of what’ll happen if they attack at the same time dawning. “Or, you can stay in there and sacrifice Rythian instead. Your choice.”

“You can’t make us choose!” Nanosounds shouts at Sjin, her tattoos brimming with power.

“Sjin, you fucking son of a bitch!” Will bellows, his turret locking onto him but not firing.

Still smirking, Sjin waves, the screen vanishing. Nanosounds screams, slamming her fists into the barrier; her shield ripples as it absorbs the damage. She punches the barrier until her knuckles and palms are aching and her shield’s drained to the tiniest sliver.

She falls onto her knees, dragging her abused fingers along the barrier. The warmth of the barrier begin to sear her fingers, distracting her from the equally painful thoughts crashing around her head. The tentacle fades amongst a pool of oily, purple goo.

Turning, she sinks down onto the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest. Quiet sobs escape her, muffled by her arms. Will avoids the purple on the floor as he hops, steps and leaps towards her. Behind him, his turret folds up, despawning. A crouch places him by her on her right side.

Uh. All his earlier confidence deflates. Will doesn’t know how to comfort a crying person. He tells himself that he’d done it before with Parvis; Parvis had been easy, distracted by all and any talk. With Nanosounds, he’s not sure what it’ll take to calm her.

He copies Ravs, touching her on her shoulder, gently. When Nanosounds doesn’t shrug him off her shoulder, Will lets his whole hand curve over it.

“Nano, sshh, it’s fine,” He tries, aware that he sounds like a fucking idiot for not knowing how to comfort a friend.

“I’m done crying,” She growls, lifting her head to glare at him. That startles him, nearly making him fall back into the drying purple goo.

“That was fast! Glad you got that out of your system.” He observes, getting up and relieved that he doesn’t have to stoop to hugging and shushing. 

“You can cry too. If you need a shoulder, you can borrow mine.” Nanosounds sniffs, wiping at her runny nose and puffy eyes.

“Here, you can use this.” He pauses to withdraw a folded up silk handkerchief. Nanosounds blows her nose on it. She holds it out to him. He eyes it with a disgusted quirk of his lips. “You know what, you can give it back once it’s washed.”

“Thanks, Will, I’ll have Billy-” She shuts up.

“They’re fine,” Will assures. “Once we get out of here and save Rythian, we’ll ECHO them. Besides, they’ve got a former Atlas mook with them.” Nanosounds nods, clearly not saying anything because she’s trying not to think about who they’d left behind and how they’re faring.

“Listen, we might be able to call for help, provided Sjin hasn’t jammed our ECHOs.” Will pulls out his ECHO device. “Sound good?” He peers at her.

“It’s worth a shot,” She mumbles, hope returning to her.

Following his lead, Nanosounds begins to dial every single person she knows on her list (short of calling those she’d left behind on Hecate; she distinctly wonders if they’re really okay, forcibly reminding herself that she has other concerns, like reaching someone).

“Nanosounds!” Elora’s cheerful voice picks up. “Is this about our future da-”

“Hi Nano!” Trell’s distant voice calls.

Her heart swelling with hope, Nanosounds takes a deep breath and begins to explain, “Elora! I’m sorry, but I really need your help, someone needs to warn Rythian-”

“Oh! Rythian, is it? Is he the really tall Vault Hunter we met?”

“Yes! Please tell him to watch out for Lalna, we think he’s-”

Next to her, Will’s having a whispered conversation with Parvis. “Parvis!”

“Will! What’s up, I didn’t think you’d be back so soon! Did you miss me? Did you buy me a postcard-” Parvis enthusiastically begins to ramble.

“I’m trapped, here’s my location, I need you to bust me out-”

Parvis cracks up once he’s had a look at the coordinates. “How’d you get arrested and sent over  _ there _ ?”

“Stop laughing and fucking get your ass over here and help me-”

The calls die. Nanosounds shakes her ECHO device, frustrated by the static she hears. “Elora? Trell? Argh,  _ Sjin _ !”

Will shakes his head. “With any luck, one of them will have gotten the coordinates they need to find us.” He’d made sure that those had been the first thing he’d sent to Parvis.

“I hope so.” Nanosounds hiccups. In a small voice that he’s never heard from her before, she says, “I don’t want to believe Sjin that Lalna’s going to betray Rythian, or the stuff he said about my mother.”

“We can still find Rythian and warn him. First, we got to get out of here.” Will stands up, holding up his ECHO device to the barrier. “Come on, it’s not like you to give up hope or sit around moping.”

“I don’t mope!” Nanosounds is on her feet, indignantly walking over to him. 

“No? Then help me search this thing for a weakness of some sort.” He grins at her, which she weakly returns.

\--

On a cliff overlooking Friendship Gulag, Parvis squints down at the Hyperion built prison. The sun keeps getting into his eyes. Behind him, Sparkles is reclining in the back of a technical, cleaning his fingernails with a guitar pick. A couple of other technicals packed with bandits are parked close by, nervously waiting for Parvis’ orders.

Parvis tugs down the bandanna covering the lower half of his face, fuck the sand that’ll get into his nose, underwear or wherever. “Well, there’s Friendship Gulag!”

“So, got any smart ideas on how to get in?”

“Shut up, I’m thinking!” Parvis retorts. Kogie hands him binoculars. He waves them away. “I can see from here fine!”

“That place is locked down tighter than a rakk hive’s asshole,” Sparkles deadpans, loping over to take the binoculars instead. He flicks the guitar pick into his inventory, boots kicking up dust.

“I’m still going to try to break in!” Parvis says, slamming a fist down into his palm. “Will needs me!”

“It ain’t worth risking our whole gang, Parv,” Sparkles drawls. “We’re still trying to heal up after the dam fight. Half our lot can’t even do direct combat right now.” Leo takes the binoculars off him.

“Yeah, but we do have,” Here, Parvis lowers his voice to what he believes is a dramatic whisper, “the  _ secret  _ weapons.” He narrows his eyes. “Or are they not ready, you fucking liar?”

“Yeah, they’re ready to roll, but I wouldn’t waste them on Friendship Gulag.”

“Sparkles, you clearly don’t know Will as I do-”

Sparkles rolls his eyes, ignoring Parvis’ convoluted way of arguing. “Strife’s a Vault Hunter, right? He should be breaking himself out of there already.”

Two couriers riding on Stingrays arrive on the hill, just in time to watch Parvis take a flying leap and kick Sparkles in the stomach. Sparkles goes down with a bellow that sounds like a rakk hive in heat.

“Excuse me, you’re Parvis, right?” One of the couriers politely asks. They’re the one with curly brown hair, sounding as though they’re in awe.

“That’s me!” Parvis brightly says, hopping on one throbbing leg; he’d kicked Sparkles where a bit of protective metal joins with Sparkles’ shoulder pauldron.

“Package for you!” says the one with red hair. A package is tossed over. Parvis catches it with both hands, flipping it around.

“Thanks! These must be my new threads!” The package’s carelessly tossed into his inventory to be torn open later.

“No worries,” The red-haired courier easily says, glancing at their companion.

“Hey, uh, you wouldn’t happen to be conveniently attacking Friendship Gulag, would you?” The other courier asks, coughing awkwardly. “We got to break someone out so it’d be really nice if you could...distract all those people down here.”

“...Maybe,” Parvis coughs as well. “We’re just trying to decide if it’s actually a good idea to go in guns blazing.”

“Maybe you don’t need to. We can join forces,” muses the red-haired courier. They lean forward on the handlebars, the Stingray throwing up dust as the fans angle at the ground. “You in?”

Sparkles snorts from where he’s still on the ground. “How are two couriers going to fucking help?”

Parvis kicks him in the side, causing him to wheeze. “Ignore him.” He shoots an apologetic smile at the couriers.

One of them grins. “Name’s Elora, and this here’s Trell. Don't worry about introducing yourselves, we know you, Parvis and Sparkles.”

“Can I get an autograph?” Trell blurts, clearly having refrained from blurting that out sooner.

Sparkles crawls over on his hands and knees, thrusting up a hand towards Trell. “Always nice to meet a fan. What do you want signed?” He sounds slightly winded.

“This isn’t the time for autographs!” Parvis shouts. “Will’s in there! He could be under torture right now!”

“He sounded fine when you talked to him,” Sparkles points out, rolling to avoid another kick. It sends him under the Stingray Trell’s sitting on. Trell’s Stingray floats higher to avoid a collision or sucking up any of Sparkles’ body or clothing.

“Yeah, but what if he’s not fine now!” Parvis says, beginning to pace.

“Not while Nanosounds’ with him,” Trell observes, leaning over to help an annoyed Sparkles up. Leo brings the binoculars over to Elora.

“What, the Siren’s trapped with him?” Parvis’ expression darkens as he turns to face the couriers.

“She needs rescuing too,” Elora says, focusing on the view on the binoculars to to peer down at Friendship Gulag.

“Yeah, alright.” Parvis pauses, noticing the lack of a grin on his own face and promptly fixes that. “We’ll save her too.” He puffs up. “It’ll be our payback for her saving the dam!” 

A cluster of nearby bandits whoop, throwing their hands up in the air. Parvis could have shouted whatever he’d wanted, and they’d still pulled themselves together, putting whatever fights happened amongst themselves on hold, went out, found the nearest thing (after a brief spell of bickering, flying fists, tears, cursing and tussling to majorly agree if it was in fact, the thing) approximating whatever it was Parvis was declaring war on and showed it who’s boss in these parts. 

Such is Parvis’ hold over these eager souls. Fortunately, it doesn’t get to Parvis’ head. Much.

“Before that, you said something about a plan?” Sparkles holds up a hand, sensing that the imminent charge could in fact, use a bit of a delay. The inner bandit in Sparkles groans at having to wait for another ten minutes before whipping out a gun and letting loose. “We’re happy to hear you two couriers out before Parvis fires a rocket down there.”

“I wasn’t going to fire a rocket,” Parvis mutters, annoyed that Sparkles feels the need to point out his trigger-happiness. In Parvis’ simple mind, there’s trigger-happy and then, there’s trigger-happiness, a word of his own invention used to describe the sheer indescribable joy that he felt when the bullets or rockets successfully went into whatever he’d been aiming at. See, Lalnable’s ongoing battle with Parvis’ illiteracy is sticking, albeit in unexpected ways. 

“ _ Yet _ ,” Sparkles points out. He takes off between the technicals before Parvis can get in another flying kick.

\--

Parvis is naked. Or rather, he  _ feels  _ naked. Having been a bandit for years (and not for a month in spite of what the newer recruits assumed), Parvis is used to the lack of complications that form his everyday outfit. 

Said outfit consists of a t-shirt printed with an appropriate logo of a heavy metal band or an occult symbol, a red bandana tied around his neck (serving as his own simple, personal, unique touch; people can’t claim that bandits aren’t fashionable, having never been bandits themselves, those rude fucks), cargo pants bought from the general store plus sneakers. Or boots, depending on if his sneakers are in the wash or not. And of course, the cloth patch clearly sewn on somewhere to make sure that people knew precisely which gang he belonged to.

Zips, pointy spikes and leather belts are optional, depending on how tough (or soft) he wanted to appear.

Add to all those is the fact that Kogie had insisted that Parvis sew nametags into the lining of everyone’s clothing. Parvis feels that this isn’t appropriate bandit behaviour. On the upside, he definitely isn’t getting into slapfights over whether or not his shirt really belongs to him or if it belongs to ‘Sweaty Johnson’.

Those clothes are easy to pull on and off post-partying, post-hangover, post-brawl, or post-orgasm (not a thing that happened to Parvis, not since failing to scrub the extremely graphic remnants of Lalnable’s lectures on venereal diseases from his brain) or post-whatever. Or pre-whatever, if he wanted to mix things up a bit.

The reason for why he feels naked is because he’s wearing a courier’s outfit. There’s too many  _ buttons,  _ on the pants, on the pockets and on the front. How they got their pants off in time to pee without wetting themselves is a dilemma that Parvis is now wondering about, as they cross the dried out land between the opening to Friendship Gulag and the desert that forms the Dust.

“Stop picking at your shirt,” Trell hisses, adjusting his shawl for the ninth time. The shawl smelled of old canvas sacks, with a hint of freshly laid out cat litter. Elora and Parvis made sure to keep at least an arm’s length away to avoid making their sinuses seize up.

“I can’t help it, it’s all  _ weird _ ,” Parvis hisses back. “How do you put this on in less than five minutes?”

“Same as you do, except we push the buttons into the little holes and then fix it so that it sits right,” Trell sarcastically explains.

“Hey, are you being sarcastic?” Parvis squints at Trell. At least he’s not the one dressed like an old lady hobbling across the desert.

It turns out that Trell’s retired grandma lived in the Dust next door to the Rail Bros., two former railroad workers. 

Familiar with Elora and Trell, Strippin and Benji had been happy to tune up the Stingrays to get extra air, in exchange for the early edition of the weekly newsletter. With an extra escape option secured, the remaining problem had been to ‘how to get inside the prison and live through the extraction’.

Elora and Trell hadn’t exactly had a spare courier’s outfit to loan Pravis. So, Trell’s grandma lent  _ her  _ spare outfit to Trell and Parvis is wearing Trell’s outfit. Elora remained as Elora. Besides, Parvis couldn’t have filled out her upper arms because those could have bench-pressed him and he’d have  _ liked _ it.

“No,” Trell responds a beat too quickly.

Sparkles had chosen to remain behind, as much as he wanted to tag along. “Somebody’s got to prod these idiots into position for when you give the signal,” He’d pointed out.

The signal consists of an unlit fireworks that’s sitting in the rigged package. The fireworks had been secretly bought from one Hat Corp. member; Parvis can’t remember who, but they’d been green and gangly). He’ll set off the entire lot once they have (sigh) Nanosounds and (hooray) Will so that Sparkles can begin the attack.

Entering is the bit that Parvis still isn’t quite clear on. From what he understands, Trell and Elora plan to bluff their way in using their status as couriers. He’s not a courier and Trell is dressed like an old lady. There’s no way that this’ll work. Trell and Elora are confident that it will.

That’s fine by them, save for the snag of Parvis having no idea how a courier behaves. He’ll just hang about in the back and let the two do all the talking. If it’d been Sparkles besides him, he’d be up front instead.

The two Hyperion guards at the gate cease being sleepy and picking their nose (respectively), snapping to alert wariness in a few seconds upon spotting the Stingrays being wheeled up to the slope towards them.

“Halt!” The guard on the right shouts, raising their gun in warning.

“Nobody says ‘halt’ anymore,” tiredly says the yawning guard on the left. Parvis can tell that they’ve yawned by the raising of their hand to where their face is.

“It’s tradition!” The other guard argues.

“Not on Pandora it isn’t!”

“Delivery for one T. Rust Mel,” announces Elora with a smile, holding up the said delivery. It’s a large brown package with more stamps and stickers than necessary covering every inch of it. The name’s courtesy of a rock, paper, scissors match between Kogie and Leo. Parvis boggles at the transparency of it. If bandits wouldn’t fall for that, these guards certainly won’t.

“Huh, Mel said they weren’t expecting it for another week or so.” The guard frowns.

“Well, Mel got lucky,” Elora brightly says. “And in the courier service, that’s as rare as albino skag triplets!”

“Alright, in you come,” reluctantly admits the suspicious guard.

“Thanks!” Parvis squeaks as he scurries past with Elora. The Stingrays remain where they are, hovering in place. Once the signal’s gone off, Elora and Trell will escape first on those. Parvis will be on his own.

“Ah, old lady, not you, you don’t look like courier stuff.” Guns bars Trell when Trell tries to join his two companions.

Trell _ glares. _ Hands rise to find his hip bones through the excessive fabric bunched up on his hips. With excruciating slowness, Trell revolves on the spot to face the guard on the right.

“Excuse me, is this any way to treat an old lady?” Trell snaps, his voice having ascended to a crone’s creaky whip capable of straightening postures, caused hair to part in an acceptable manner, and people to dread hearing their real name being said any second in  _ that tone. _ Especially in that Tone where one knows that big trouble’s about to happen.

If words had force, those would have blown the guards down and left nothing of them behind, not even a flattened bit of armor. The braver guard continues to point their gun at Trell, albeit their hands have developed a nervous tremor. 

The other guard hisses, “Dude, you’re not shooting an old lady!” Their gun’s no longer in their hands, laid to one side.

“No, you wouldn’t, not unless you want all fifty of my descendants coming down on you like a ton of lead bricks!” Trell advances, wielding his tone like a gun of his own. “I have the _right_ to supervise my baby couriers until they _bloody_ _learn_ how to deliver a package the correct way, and this is all the _respect_ I get for teaching them?” The guard’s pressing up against the wall in a futile attempt to get away from the finger waggling in their face. “Shame on you! I’ll speak to your supervisor right now-”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, just be in and out before my boss finds out!” The guard folds, dropping their gun to their side to cower in the face of a cantankerous old lady armed with nothing but her voice and a finger.

“What else do you have to say?” Trell squints at the guard with an expression of utmost elderly disdain. It bores into the lens of the helmet, deep into the impressionable brain underneath.

“Uh,” The guard stalls. Trell’s eyes narrow. He sucks in another breath for another elderly rant. The other guard elbows their buddy to jostle their memory into cooperating. “Thank you!” They blurt, clearly hoping that it won’t set off Trell.

Trell grins, brightening. “That’s it, sonny, you’ll go far in life if you treat your elders with  _ respect _ .” Cackling, Trell reaches up with a hand. The guard flinches when they’re gently patted on the helmet. “Don’t go getting naughty tattoos either, unless you’re prepared to show it off.”

“How did you-” The guard’s hand flies to their armored neck, evidently where the supposed tattoo exists. 

“I got one of my own. I can show it to you if you want, but first I got to take off my garter and that don’t come off without a crowbar, I tells you-” Trell begins with an enthusiasm that has no regard for other people’s (typically younger, often related) feelings on seeing saggy bits of wrinkled body that should theoretically be covered up to avoid becoming the stuff of nightmares.

“Grandma, I think it’s time to go and drop off the delivery!” Elora laughs, taking Trell’s arm to lead them away. “You got to show us how to get someone to sign again, Parvis here forgot again.”

“Again? That’s the fifth time this week, you’re not going to get any promotion if you keep that up!” Trell hobbles over to Parvis with surprising speed, smacking Parvis on the back of the head.

“Ow, gran!” Parvis whines with what he hopes is a convincing amount of protest befitting someone who’s being disciplined by their grandparent in front of other people (again, often younger and related folks).

“Which way’s the cafeteria?” Trell marches down the slope, the hem of his skirt swishing across the concrete. “I could use a refreshing drink after all that talking! People these days never listen!”

Elora and Parvis helplessly shrug at the guards. The guards back away, eager to put the incident behind them. 

Leaving the guards, the two jog off to keep up with Trell’s hurried pace. “Gran, no, the cafeteria’s that way!” Elora calls out with the air of someone who’s been in this situation and knows exactly how to deal with a wayward elderly relative bent on going their own way in life and nothing short of a charging rakk hive could deter them.

Around the corner out of sight, Trell rests against the wall to sigh, lowering his voice to a hoarse croak. “How’d I do?”

“Have you considered becoming an actor?” Parvis had been stood there in shock, wondering how the fuck Trell managed to bluff his way through that without breaking character even once.

“No, that was improvisation. I had a BnB character who used illusions to pretend to be an old lady and ran off that.”

“You make it seem like you dress up and act like an old lady every day!” Parvis compliments. 

Trell’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits. He reaches over to yank on Parvis’ collar so that they’re face to face. “I do  _ not _ , in fact, dress up and act like an old lady every day,” He hisses through his teeth.

“It was a compliment!” Parvis squeaks, glancing imploringly at Elora for help.

Elora patiently tugs Trell off Parvis. “Come on, we can’t waste any more time, and Nanosounds and Will could be anywhere.”

“We could just do this?” Parvis tugs the ‘package’ out of Elora’s hands and hefts it. Digistructing a marker, he addresses the package to one ‘Nanosounds’. “Prisoners are allowed to get packages, right?”

“Yeah, they are, according to section-” Trell recites, his voice cracking like rustling cellophane.

“Stop talking and save your voice,” Elora says to him.

“Right.” Trell weakly coughs, before tugging out a tin from nowhere. The tin box’s almost crushed, the lid barely flapping open. “Cough drop, anyone?” He offers after plucking one candy out to suck on it, with loud, appreciative smacking sounds.

“I think you’re being a little bit too in-character,” Elora kindly says after she and Parvis have stared for three seconds.

“I’m not being in-character,” Trell says. “No? More for me.” The tin vanishes under the shawl.

“Let’s split up. If we get caught, we’ll just say we lost Parvis.” Elora glances at Parvis.

“Sure,” Parvis agrees, concentrating so that he looks completely and utterly lost and has zero idea of where he’s going even if his mission’s being carried under a scrawny arm.

“Good luck,” Elora bids, heading off in one direction with a clipboard clasped in one hand. 

Compared to Parvis, she’s gone with the look of someone who’s in a massive rush and will only stop if it’s super important, like have you seen my delivery boy, he’s gone and fucked up again, don’t you waste my time with asking me questions, so have you seen him or not?

Trell continues to suck on the candy, waddling towards the sign that says ‘cafeteria’ with an evil smirk that suggests that when Parvis finds the cafeteria, he’ll find Trell terrorising the poor people in there.

Twenty minutes of walking around aimlessly doesn’t get Parvis any closer to finding Will or Nanosounds. As a courier, all the guards didn’t spare him much of a second glance, provided he fakes looking like he knows exactly where he’s going. The third time he passes a patrol, the guards stare at him for a few seconds longer.

Beginning to panic, Parvis ducks into an empty doorway to ECHO Elora and Trell. As he lifts his hand to make the call, Elora ECHOs him instead.

“Hi,” Parvis greets, breathless from all the walking.

“Hi Parvis, any luck yet?” She whispers.

“Nope, haven’t seen anything,” Parvis whispers, not wanting to be caught at such a critical moment. “Where’s Trell?”

“I think I saw him in the cafeteria pinching as much rations and food he can stuff under his dress,” Elora says. “He’ll be fine. I think.”

“Good idea, nobody’s going to want all that food back once it’s been under there,” Parvis notes with a snicker. It earns a nervous giggle from Elora.

“You know, we could just ask a guard where they are and ask if we can deliver the package to them?” Elora proposes.

“What if they figure out what we’re up to and are onto us before we can get out?”

“It’ll be fine! They wouldn’t dare attack an old lady or a courier, not if they want their future mail,” Elora reassures.

“You really do have that much faith in people liking couriers,” Parvis mumbles. “Maybe I should have been a courier instead of a bandit.”

“Well, if you deliver that package, you’ll have done just as well as one of our couriers,” Elora encourages.

“Hey, uh, if you ever want to have some fun, I recommend coming to my concerts.” Parvis coughs (wow, he’s picking up habits from Will like he’s absorbing medical skills from Lalnable). “We know how to have a good time, we don’t gossip about who shows up, and we always hang out with our fans after, so...yeah, I’ll save you some front row seats?”

“That sounds lovely. Trell loves your music, so I’ll let him know he’s personally invited.”

“I forgot he was a fan,” Parvis says, grinning in spite of no video feed.

“He’s been trying not to embarrass himself in front of you,” Elora notes. “He had a moment at his grandma’s, but you absolutely, did not, hear that from me.”

“Got it,” Parvis says, beginning to like Elora and Trell even more. He notes to send a collector’s edition of his music over to the two of them later on, as well as an autograph plus a selfie.

Two minutes later, Parvis is heading in the direction of the cells where Nanosounds and Will are being held. Amazingly, it’d been Trell who’d browbeaten the location out of a couple of wardens stupid enough to snicker at Trell’s voracious ‘appetite’.

Elora knows the plan and so does Trell. Parvis ducks down behind the building, fishing out a match. The package’s lid flaps are pulled back, revealing a bundle of slim, hand-made rockets tied together with duct tape, the white fuses lolling out. The whole bundle’s extracted, the fuses trailing on the ground like coiled strings.

Parvis props the pointy ends of the rockets up so that they’re facing the sky. With care, as to not miss out on a single fuse (he could do this with his hands tied behind his back; bandits loved fireworks as much as they loved pointless brawls), he holds the end of the match to the fuses, allowing each one to catch fire. He waves the match out, dropping it and proceeds to leg it out of there, right into the building.

The guards inside the room stare at him barging in. 

“Fire!” Parvis screams at the top of his lungs. The guards resume staring, the word taking a hideous amount of time to reach their brains. That should have worked. Parvis sighs, turning to the wall. With a punch, he smashes the glass panel protecting the fire alarm and tugs the lever down, throwing himself behind a desk for cover.

In that same instance, the fireworks explode with several destructive,  ear-shattering bangs. Friendship Gulag descends into hell as the Bloody Bandits detonate the charges taped to the outer walls of the prison.

The room shakes as deafening explosion after explosion shatter the glass. Guards storm out of the room, shouting to one another. In the middle of all that commotion, nobody notices one lost ‘courier’ shakily to their feet and slipping into the vacant corridor.

Parvis runs into a guard leaving the bathroom. “Hey, what’re you doing here?” A straggling guard demands, doing up their pants.

“Nothing!” Parvis automatically responds, already unloading his rifle’s rounds into the guard’s head. He steps over the body, leaving a mumbled apology.

He gets lost twice. In the process, he’s forced to eliminate a two units of guards, taking them out in the usual, practical fashion of ‘you die first, not me’. Tired of going around in circles and wasting ammo, Parvis squints at a map, struggling to make sense of the words on it, mumbling the directions to Will out loud like it’ll help.

Just one item stands out. It’s the floor that might be exactly what he’s looking for. Not knowing what else to do (and fully aware that he’s operating on borrowed time), Parvis hurries towards the lifts and calls it up.

Nobody's using it, which saves him the problem of having to wreck it with gunfire. The lift descends, shaking every few seconds as whatever chaos Sparkles is causing makes the whole thing rock on its struts. Hopefully, Trell and Elora will be on their Stingrays before getting caught in the crossfire.

He finds the door. He’d been considering how to make an entrance, settling for kicking the door down with his gun held up- he spews curses when the door doesn’t give under his boot. He’s forced to hop on his other one when the pain nearly makes him crash onto the floor.

“Stupid door,” He grumbles, opting to open it the normal way. Stumbling, he limps over to the balcony to peer downwards in the hopes of spotting Will. 

In the center of the room are two figures. Their backs are hunched over, exhausted and resigned as all hope of being rescued dwindle with every passing minute.

“Will?” Parvis’ hesitant voice rings out in the room. It bounces off the barrier. All the lights set in the floor reflect upwards, forcing him to squint if he wants to see anything else aside from a world of white tinged with yellow.

From his vantage point, he can’t see their conditions. What he’s really terrified of is that Will’s dead or something equally bad’s happened to him. Parvis knows that he’s not qualified to do anything about death except for applying the kiss of life and the kiss of life’s a big fat help when the person’s already dead beyond belief.

One of the figures shift, tilting their head up in the direction of his voice.

“Who’s there?” Will’s voice demands, pretending to be brave when it didn’t need to be. It makes something inside Parvis squeal a little at how adorable Will’s bravado is.

“I’m here to rescue you!” Parvis shouts down, all his worst fears about finding two corpses evaporating faster than a freshly grilled rakk being left up for grabs in an all-you-can-eat bandit buffet.

It takes Will no less than a second to recognize and place Parvis’ voice. Will climbs to his feet, shouting back, “Parvis, you actually came! Wait, that sounded wrong, let me-” Hands flail at the barrier.

If Parvis closes his eyes, he can imagine Will’s practically luminescent blush filling his cheeks. At that, Parvis laughs, missing out on Will’s flustered stuttering. Will’s  _ okay,  _ everything’s going be okay (well, not until they all get out of here) and that’s all Parvis wants. 

“I’ll get you out of there!” He declares.

“There should be a console to disable the barrier!” Nanosounds calls up, who’d leapt to her feet the second Will recognised Parvis.

Crap, he’d forgotten about her. Parvis tries not to let it bring down his mood. A sideways step brings him to the console. Logically, it’s got to be the only one she’s talking about. The walkway doesn’t have anything else on it.

There are also far too many buttons on the console with too-small writing for Parvis to make out. “What do I press?” He tries not to sound too worried about hitting the wrong thing.

“Is there a button labeled ‘deactivate?’” Will calls up.

“Uh, no?” The lines and curves of letters swim before Parvis’ eyes. He rubs his eyes, leaning closer. There’s a picture that looks like a volume adjustment. Parvis opts to slide the button for that up; the room’s lighting dims so that he can barely see Will over the edge of the railing.

“Parvis, I appreciate you wanting to set the mood, but now’s not the time,” Will dryly says, snapping on a torch so that he’s lit up by it.

“I’m trying my best!” Parvis snaps. The room’s restored to its usual lighting. “I’m still learning how to read!”

“...You can’t read?” Hearing Nanosounds say that out loud irritates Parvis, in spite of the lack of jeering to her tone. Will lets a shocked silence speak for him.

“Forget I said anything!” Glad that they can’t see his flush, Parvis is tempted to pretend to walk out and ditch them, if only to make them realise that he’s the only person here who can save their ungrateful asses. The fact that Will needs him keeps his feet in front of the console.

“You can do this!” Nanosounds shouts up at him. “I believe in you, from one illiterate person to another!”

“Wait, you’re illiterate too?” Parvis pauses with a hand over a random button to consider if he’d heard her right.

“I used to be!” She’s...not ashamed to admit it.

“How? You’re rich, you’re fancy, you can’t have learned to not read!”

“Being a Siren isn’t so great for school!” Nanosounds admits.

“Less bonding, more escaping please,” Will briskly reminds. 

Parvis forgets about asking for any tips from her about how to conquer reading faster. “I think I got it!” He presses a button with a picture of a cloud on it, assuming that it’s the one for air. Hissing fills the room from below. Sticking his head up over the console, Parvis spies Will and Nanosounds backing up towards the middle of the barrier, appearing to cough.

“It’s poison gas!” gasps Will, tugging on an Oz kit so that it bubbles around his head. “Parvis, are you trying to save us or kill us?”

“I’m sorry!” Ducking his head, Parvis returns to scrutinising the console, moving onto his third choice: a button with arrows pointing to the barrier. It’s pressed. “Did that work?”

“The walls are shrinking!” screams Nanosounds, who spawns four tentacles in her panic to keep the walls from closing in on her and Will. The tentacles heave, pulsating as they begin to burn from the barrier as it shrinks.

Not knowing what else to do and fearing that the fourth mistake will dearly cost him, Parvis snatches up his gun. Bracing himself, he opens fire on the console, standing his ground against the vicious kick of the gun, gritting his teeth and  _ hoping _ .

Bullets shred through the thin metal, tearing through circuitry, wires and boards to rain down onto the barrier. Sparks leap like wisps of shooting stars from the wreckage. A few bullets ping off the barrier to crash into the lights overhead, breaking bulbs, tiling and glass. One of the newly freed lights’s torn free by a snapped cable, plunging down towards the feebly flickering barrier.

Parvis’ aim snaps to it, eliminating it with a pull of the trigger. Its remains shower down, flaring as the barrier devours them. Not satisfied that the barrier’s still standing in spite of the decimated console, Parvis reloads, scarred fingers slotting the next cartridge of ammo in.

Flashes light up the barrier as bullets meet it. Adding to Nanosounds and Will’s terror is the room being shaken by forces above as the battle rages on. Every now and again, a muffled rumble of an explosion dislodges bits of debris from the ceiling.

Failing to budge the fucking barrier, Parvis sighs. He’s not giving up. With unusual calm, he pulls out his last resort: a charge, identical to the ones used to blow up the outer walls of Friendship Gulag. Tongue sticking out of his mouth from concentrating, he arms it with a five second timer.

The number drops from a ‘5’ to a ‘4’ in his hand. With all his might, he lobs it as he would a grenade. It gracefully arcs, headed straight at the barrier. 

“Get down!” He screams, diving beyond the doorway.

Will and Nanosounds scream as well, covering their heads with their arms. The force of the contained explosion throws them off their feet; Nanosounds grabs Will’s arm before he can roll into a puddle of bubbling goop. Hanging onto one another, the two breathe heavily while waiting for their world to stabilise amongst the smoke filling the room. The two get up, wobbling on the spot.

Parvis wades through the smoke towards the two, guided by Will’s madly swinging torch light. He hauls them upright by the arms, dragging them both up the walkway and out of the room. Once outside, he slaps his hand on the door’s panel, sealing the room behind him.

“I almost suffocated in there!” He gasps, hoping that he didn’t breathe in too much of the gas when going down to drag the two to safety.

“Here,” Will offers, still attempting to process how the fuck Parvis had succeeded where he and Nanosounds had failed. He removes his Oz kit, holding it out. “There’s some air still left, if you want it.”

“Ew, Will, I don’t want your secondhand cooties,” Parvis jokes. Still, his hand closes over Will’s, letting him hold it up to his face. Lovely, lovely fresh oxygen, how he’s missed it. Once he doesn’t feel like he’s going to keel over, Parvis pushes the kit away. He’s still hanging onto Will’s hand even as he begins to run down the hallway towards the lift. “Come on, Sparkles and the others will be withdrawing now, we got to move!”

Parvis, Will and Nanosounds pile into the lift. The whole shaft shakes with whatever’s still happening outside. In the lift, Parvis doles out the last of his ammo to Will and Nanosounds. The three of them reload their weapons, readying for the inevitable moment when the lift’s doors part.

Standing in the corner, Will knows that Parvis breathed in more gas than he’s letting on, swaying slightly. The whole can of oxygen had helped to a certain extent. Maybe Lalnable can examine Parvis later. Right now, Parvis is leaning again on the lift’s wall, nodding along to whoever is talking to him via ECHO.

“I’m in the lift with Will and Nanosounds!” He reports, sounding out of breath. “Get ready to scram once you see us! No, not before! They’ll be on us too quick!”

Standing before Will is a Parvis that he’d never expected to ever see with his own two eyes.

Sweat laden with dirt drips off Parvis’ scratched chin, plinking on the lift’s floor. The gun in his hand taps against the door as he impatiently shifts, clearly working off his pent-up energy until he can dive back into the action.

The courier’s outfit he’s wearing is matted with streaks of drying blood that Will’s nose automatically blocks out from a long-time association. On Parvis, the red stains on his face double as crude lines of war paint, hammering home that Parvis is a bandit.

This is not the bumbling, cheerful, innuendo-loving musician and bandit ‘in name only’ that Will knows, this is Parvis the  _ Bandit Lord.  _

This is the person who declared war on every other bandit clan in the Three Horns area, who not only survived and lived to tell the tale but chose to  _ scream about it onstage.  _ This is the person who shrugged off a lethal concussion with nothing but a lopsided grin, laughed in the face of death and carried right on living life to the fullest.

This is the person who fought tooth and nail to protect what he claimed as his (his people, friends and home included). This is the person who got up in the aftermath of every war, glanced around, shrugged and began to rebuild, even if it took him a little longer every time.

This is the person who chose to save him and Nanosounds. Even if he could have perished a thousand times over in the attempt, not even death would have stopped Parvis from  _ trying _ .

It’s chilling to realise that Parvis is a bandit who’s on their side, and he’s there because he wants to be.

“Why’re you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?” Parvis blinks, breaking the mask of determined fury he’d been wearing during the ECHO call. “Oh no, I got blood all over the uniform,” He bemoans, picking at his shirt. “Trell’s gonna kick my ass…”

“Wait, Trell’s here with you?” At hearing that name, Nanosounds seizes his shoulder. 

Parvis’ wide eyes flick to her hand on him before he vigorously nods. Nanosounds lets go of him at his frame tensing up at her touch. They both pretend that it hadn’t just happened. “Yeah! Elora and Trell helped me break into here to rescue you.”

“Where are they?”

“They’re waiting outside Friendship Gulag for us,” Parvis says, lifting up his gun when the lift begins to come to a gentle stop. “The lift’s about to open. Ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Will affirms. He wants to ask if Parvis is ready; he has a feeling that he’ll get a dirty answer if he did.

“It’s good to be out of there,” Nanosounds says, smirking in spite of wanting to find a bed, crawl into it and pass out for a few hours.

“Don’t worry, I’ll burn this place to the ground!” Parvis assures.

“That’s nice of you, but you don’t need to go to that extent-” Will spots Parvis’ expression and promptly shuts up. “On second thought, go ahead, I hate this place.” This appears to immensely please Parvis.

“I knew you’d agree!” He brightly says. 

The lift opens to a decimated office, the building falling down around their shoulders from the roaring fire eating away at it. Parvis, Nanosounds and Will clear the adrenaline-pumping one hundred metre dash before the ceiling caves in.

Outside, bandits and Hyperion soldiers (backed by Loaders) grapple for victory, all the sounds of warfare immersing Will in a familiar environment. Welcome back to Pandora, he thinks, refraining from lobbing his turret out since it’d probably kill Parvis and any bandits that it spots.

Nanosounds parts the fighting sides with twin waves of tentacles that sweep the path ahead clean, allowing her, Parvis and Will to run unimpeded.

Parvis plunges his bayoneted rifle into a guard’s neck, tearing it out and continuing without watching the guard fall. Will narrowly sidesteps the body, ducking to stab a necrophage plant. The plant’s acidic pod pops as it rapidly homes in on a Loader tearing an arm off a screaming, helpless bandit decked out in maroon.

Despite the risk of losing Parvis, Will pauses, unloading a rifle burst into the robot’s leg, causing the Loader to topple. With a well-placed stomp, Nanosounds destroys the Loader’s eye. The Loader jerks, stilling on the ground with a distorted, mechanical whine.

The released bandit falls to the ground, moaning as their stump of an arm gushes blood. Toting a shotgun, Kogie appears out of a burning building, limping over to heft the wounded bandit up onto a sooty shoulder. 

“Go go, we’re retreating! Don’t worry about me!” Kogie shouts over the din. Nanosounds catches Will’s eye. They turn as one, opening fire on the Loaders closing in on them from behind.

“Incoming!” Kogie screams.

A rocket explodes in the midst of the Loaders. Will turns his head, spotting Parvis standing atop the stairs. Parvis despawns the rocket launcher, hopping down to help Kogie and the wounded bandit onto their feet.

As the last of the stragglers join them at the remains of Friendship Gulag’s entrance, Sparkles lets off the last firework. It explodes in a spectacle of rainbow lights that expand out, falling towards the desert. Everybody gathered at the entrance pile into waiting vehicles, most of them technicals. As each is filled, they take off down the hill as fast as the boosts allow.

“Watch,” Parvis commands from the turret. Crouched in the back, Will and Nanosounds turn around.

Buzzards amass over the Hyperion prison. Circular objects are dispensed from the boxes on the Buzzards’ undersides, clouds of them falling towards the base.

“Grenades,” Will breathes. He watches as the explosion from the grenades outdoes the fireworks display by a factor of a hundred; it’s totally not because that he’d almost died in the prison. Turning his head lets him know that Parvis has a satisfied smile on his face right that second.

“Where’d you get the Buzzards from?” Nanosounds asks.

“The ones that didn’t get destroyed during the dam fight? We just fixed them up as good as new,” Sparkles says from the driver’s seat. The technical lurches as it returns to normal driving speed, bumping along the unmarked road the gang’s following.

Parvis sighs in evident contentment, propping his face up with a hand. “That was beautiful to watch.”

The convoy begins to slow as they approach the stretch of the Dust preceding the four-way split in the road. Trell and Elora are waiting by it by their Stingrays, Trell still dressed as an old lady.

Without waiting for the technical to come to a complete stop, Nanosounds leaps out the back and sprints towards the two, stumbling from the loose sand.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She gushes, letting Elora swing her around with her feet off the ground. Foreheads bump and the two are happy, happy, happy, happy- the two stagger, almost knocked onto their feet by the momentum. Trell tears his shawl off, using it to busily wipe the dirt and grime off Nanosounds’ face before he strides over to Parvis.

“No problem, I had a great time busting you out!” Elora responds, laughing. 

Trell stares at Parvis. He silently spawns a notebook and a pen, thrusting both out. Parvis snatches the notebook up to scribble ‘THANKS’, plus a giant signature over the front, before lobbing the notebook over at Sparkles. Sparkles proceeds to pass it over to Kogie and Leo, who also sign (with concentrated expressions).

“We don’t have time to explain, but we need to find Rythian!” Nanosounds says once Elora’s gently lowered her onto her feet again. “And beat the shit out of Sjin, but that can happen later!”

“We need to get to a Fast Travel Station,” Will says, sliding out of the technical. He’s still catching his breath, limping over to Nanosounds.

“Bad news, the Fast Travel’s down in this area,” Trell says, grimacing. “I tried to Fast Travel home to get some new clothes, but that didn’t work. It just gave me a load of tosh about the network being down in this area.” He follows it up with a curse in Pandoran. Elora kicks him on the shin to shut him up.

“ _ Sjin _ ,” Will and Nanosounds darkly say.

“You can take a technical,” Sparkles promptly offers, hollering for four bandits to get out and hand their ride over. The bandits spot Nanosounds and scramble to vacate the vehicle. 

Will and Nanosounds climb in with Will taking the wheel. “Yikes, this seat’s a little high…”

“Hey. Trell, I can probably fix this, wash it and send it back to you,” Parvis says, picking at the borrowed uniform. He grins at Trell. All around them, bandits zoom past, laughing, screaming, whimpering or crying as they head home.

“You can keep it, I have lots of spares,” Trell says, flushing.

“Thanks! I like the uniform, it’s actually pretty nice and comfy.”

“Can we make it back in time to your dam?”

“Yeah, give or take a couple hours if we stay at maximum speed,” Parvis guesses. “Why, you got to go?”

“Nah, it just looks like a big storm’s about to hit Three Horns,” Trell says, holding a hand up to block the sun. He nods at the horizon, pointing. “Those clouds over the Tundra Express don’t look too happy.”

Elora’s sharp eyes follows Trell’s pointing. “Yeah, that’d be a storm alright.”

“We should make it back in time. Do you need a place to crash until the Fast Travel Network’s back?” Parvis fixes them with his puppy eyed look (earning a sigh from Sparkles, who knows exactly what he’s doing).

Elora and Trell don’t have the heart to stay ‘no’, even if Toby’s going to sigh about missing his two favourite couriers. Well, Elora doesn’t have the heart, while Trell looks like his number one dream’s just come true.

“Fuck yes!” Trell shouts at Parvis.

“Great! All aboard!” Parvis waves an armoured bus (appropriately labeled as ‘THE PARTY BUZ’) over to climb into it, holding the door open for Elora and Trell to clamber in as well. Trell takes an offered kazoo from a bandit, while Elora accepts a party hat. The two’s Stingrays despawn.

“Hey Elora, this reminds me of our trip,” Trell starts to reminisce as the bus’ music begins to start up again.

“Parvis!” Will calls out, the technical pulling up beside the bus that begins to move.

Parvis leans out an open window, hair ruffling and eyes shining. “You’re welcome for the rescue!” He beams.

There’s a beat where Will opens and shuts his mouth. “That wasn’t what I was going to say!”

“Oh.” Parvis rubs the back of his head, flushing. “What were you going to ask?”

“How long have we been gone for?”

Parvis’ expression strains for a moment until he responds, “From Pandora? About a month.” Will and Nanosound stare at him. “What? It really has been a month!”

“ _ Shit! _ ” Will mutters, slamming his foot down on the accelerator. The technical takes off, showering Parvis in sand and dust. 

“Rude!” Parvis yells at the technical.

“Thanks for saving me!” Will shouts over his shoulder. He doesn’t catch Parvis’ shocked response, the technical already zooming over a dune and out of the convoy’s sight altogether.

“It’s not too late, we can still make it!” Nanosounds says. “We can still warn Rythian!”

As the technical speeds across the desert towards Sanctuary Hole, she lets her eyes drift to the ECHO device clutched in her hand. ‘SIGNAL JAMMED’ flashes at her on the device’s screen. Please, don’t let whatever Sjin said about Lalna be true, she hopes, just as much she wants her Mother and everyone back home to be safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (home is not where your heart is, it’s where you go to have a good cry and then make yourself a cup of tea and try to forget what just happened and hopefully move on)
> 
> i’d like to thank teagstime for being a great listener plus an enabler. 
> 
> this chapter’s one of the heavier hitting ones, especially regarding the subjects that were covered. i did my best to make it subtle when will was exploring nanosounds’ childhood home.most of the chapter is spent dangling from will’s shoulder and like any other character in this au, will is prone to jumping to or drawing entirely the wrong conclusions. he’s pretty right most of the time (and he likes to believe he is).
> 
> this chapter mostly focuses on nanosounds’ own character arc, with a little bit of will’s thrown in. nanosounds grapples with the fact that she’ll never be as perfect as her mother wants her to be; she’s never lived with herself at not being able to meet all the expectations imposed on her. 
> 
> add to all that the nature of her origins, the late appearance of her siren powers, rocky and lonely childhood plus dealing with that there’s nobody quite like her out there in the universe. and if there is, they weren’t around to help her understand that she’s not necessarily any less of a person for who she is.
> 
> nanosounds is a person who flips between ‘projecting self-assurance to the point of pigheadedness’ and ‘doubting herself constantly and destructively holding back most of her emotions until later on’.
> 
> here is where will steps in, as someone who can look at her, knowing none of her history, and confidently say that ‘yes, she’s a siren, but she’s also one of the nicest and bravest people i’ve ever met, and i’m glad to be her friend’. we all certainly could have done with someone with that in our lives at least once, right?
> 
> he’s also someone who tells her that it’s okay to vent, rage, scream or cry; as someone who previously shied away from all that and held back his own emotions, he sees a little of himself in nanosounds. mostly, he seeks to encourage her to be truer to herself to avoid her falling into the same trap that he did.
> 
> in him, nanosounds sees someone who walks a lonely road- jokes about that one song withstanding, she brings out his sillier and relaxed side because it’s not often that she gets to share that part of herself with anyone. or vice versa. slowly, he’s acting more and more like himself rather than who he thinks he should be.
> 
> as a side note, it was a mere coincidence that nanosounds was born a siren; if a couple of atoms had moved a certain way, somebody else would have ended up with her siren status (and a completely different set of powers).
> 
> her mother did get ivf treatment, seeking an heir without dealing with having to settle down and find someone suitable. and then nanosounds was born a siren. It threw a wrench into her plans to raise an heir. she did her best, though, which is admirable in itself. you’d think that sometimes, she regrets not doing things a little differently, but who knows? 
> 
> it wasn’t a perfect relationship between the two. while the two do have their respective faults, acknowledging what those faults are is a part of admitting that ‘yes, i fucked up and i’m gonna do better’. ‘and i’m sorry’ is in there, somewhere.
> 
> i might explore the incident mentioned in this chapter ia future ‘btb’ fic, the one where nanosounds gets sent to pandora as a result. i do have a few ideas kicking around, though none are going to be worked on for a while.
> 
> that’s because i’m going to work on chapter twelve of ‘tlvh’. that’ll be out in december. after that, it’s going to be ‘btb’ fics until all those fics converge in the main timeline that’s ‘tlvh’.
> 
> thank you for reading this ramble, the fic and for enjoying this au. the doodles are over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/borderlandscast%3A-the-last-vault-hunter), drawn by the fantastic siins as usual!


	12. Everything That Happens Will Happen Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while this chapter surprisingly features minimal banging (heh), there’s some mild digging into mental health regarding social isolation and all that good stuff to do with depression, ptsd, scars and a brief panic attack.
> 
> there’s a lot of references to ‘btb’ fic contained in this chapter, so if you haven’t caught up, it’s recommended that you go and do that first. if you’ve already read all the fic available, you’re amazing!
> 
> the remaining doodles for this chapter will pop up at some point during december or in january next year!

Trivia nights at the Crooked Caber are not to be missed. This is not because of the staggering amounts of booze Ravs brews for the occasion, but rather, the fact that half of Sanctuary Hole (including the meriff) cram themselves into the bar. If neighbouring bandits knew how much booze got stockpiled for trivia night, they’d be queuing up at the gates the night before.

Local history claims that the tradition was imported by the former mayor (or meriff, some would argue), Ravs, when he began construction on the ruins of Sanctuary. 

“Back on Dionysus when I was a lad, no bar’s complete without a proper trivia night. That said, it ain’t a real trivia night unless one table being’s chucked or a good brawl’s happening. I aim to continue that proud tradition on Pandora, starting in Sanctuary Hole!” He’d supposedly quoted.

Obviously, trivia night proved to be an instant hit.

Half an hour prior to the bell calling for silence, people are forming up teams, squabbling and bantering over names as tables are being set up. Sometimes the meriff  _ started  _ the fights, setting an example that’d persist for the rest of the event.

A few of the cleverer townsfolk took charge and brought their own tables (leading to the running joke of ‘it’s B.Y.O.T.N’, aka, ‘bring your own table night’ which become synonymous with trivia night). Somebody had once brought along a poker table; it’d become a permanent fixture in the bar once Ravs had gotten attached (and it’s definitely not because of how often he won).

The last time Rythian properly attended the gathering had been months ago. Figuring out the proper date required him to actually sit down and air out the murky memories he’d sort of...put aside without a second thought, all the ones marked for later examination. 

Except he never really got around to it, not unless he really, really needed  _ the memory  _ at a certain, crucial moment (like mid-conversation, oops).

It’s akin to attempting a puzzle, except a few of the pieces had slid between the cracks in the floor, too stuck to retrieve. Some are broken beyond duct tape’s ability to repair. Some of the edges are too sharp for him to grasp still, stranded outside of time’s ability to dull. The pain from those is still fresh; he doesn’t bother those (not intentionally).

Other pieces had been tossed into a different box, where all the boxes are shook up and thrown into one giant, horrible, confounding stack that continued to grow, like a fast-growing hedge resisting a gardener's attempts to tame it with chainsaw-sized trimmers.

Trying out one puzzle frequently led Rythian to reluctantly delve into another box in search of the one piece he needed. Often, he ended up with a piece that’s not the one he’d been searching for, as well as a entirely different puzzle in front of him. 

To complicate matters, sometimes all the pieces  _ seem _ identical and it’s not until he tries to make it fit that he finds out that the piece belonged elsewhere.

That’s when he gave up and pulled out his flask.

He had far too many puzzles like that scattered inside of his head, all awaiting completion. 

Why didn’t he keep records? Records are for people who had all the pieces to begin with, all marked, labeled and meticulously filed away in the correct boxes. Their boxes aren’t just piled wherever happens to be convenient because  _ this space  _ is already full, what do you mean it’s supposed to go  _ there _ ?

For people like Rythian, that sort of basic logic couldn’t be applied. He suspects Teep belonged to the same camp as him, differing in that they threw out whole boxes rather than leaving them incomplete and sitting around to gather dust. Rythian still doesn’t know how Teep dealt with it (if they even did; there’s still a lot he guesses at regarding them).

It’s one of the few things they deliberately try to avoid asking each other about. It’s one thing to never pick through your own boxes for matching bits, but another to go opening up somebody else’s, even with their express permission. 

Many a friendship’s been tarnished because somebody stumbled upon an unflattering, incriminating photo, conversation or a message that couldn’t be explained away.

These days, he tries to instill order on his recollections, making sure that they’re intact to begin with. On occasion, the puzzles are linked. When fortune favours him, examining one will lead to another. 

Rarely, standing in a place where he’d first began the puzzle jogged his memory into sheepishly hacking up the missing pieces. It’s like a guilty pet bringing over the sock they’d torn to pieces, and finding that the sock contained fifty dollars hidden inside of it.

The last time he’d attended trivia night had been a week before leaving Sanctuary Hole behind (give or take a few months; shush, he’s still nailing down the finer details). More unusually, it’d been without either of his best friends.

He still doesn’t know if the two have forgiven him for that terrible decision. Ravs and Teep had the excellent grace to leave it be, accepting that he’d just walked back into their lives with nary an explanation for his prolonged absence.

On nights like these, Rythian tries not to let his mind wander. Best not to let it go where it shouldn’t. He’s found that company’s best for when his mood’s about to tank for no reason. A lie; there’s  _ always  _ a reason even if he doesn’t want to think too hard about it.

When Rythian enters the Crooked Caber, he’s slapped in the face by a colossal wave of noise and sound; it’s like the Bloody Bandits relocated their massive, multi-roomed party from the heart of the dam into the tiny bar.

The jukebox (that someone lent but forgot to pick up after) fills the bar with a pleasant, richly smooth jazz number that Rythian almost finds himself nodding along to. Talk fills his ears, a constant distraction that makes his ears itch to listen in, largely because it’s the only time snatches of complete strangers’ lives seemed the most interesting.

A couple of familiar faces (Daisy, Honeydew, Xephos, plus Strippin) drift through the crowd, waving to him. By waving back, he’s awarded a couple of friendly grins for being social. Clunking and grunts alert him to a table being shifted in. 

Gazing around the bar, Rythian steps out of the way of two table carriers scooting past him. The table’s directed into place with a solid crash, knocking a few chairs over. He dodges the sweating carriers downing water from offered glasses.

His height means that he spots who he’s looking for in about three seconds flat. Using his teleporter in a crowded space like this isn’t exactly the best idea. Whatever he happens to be touching tends to get dragged along with him. Succeeding, he pops into a suitable gap between a couple, startling them into spilling their beers all over their lap.

If Ravs hadn’t been present, Rythian would have been dogpiled upon and beaten up by now by the couple, the couple’s friends, family and possibly their pet skag.

“Sorry,” Rythian mutters to them. The murderous looks on their faces switch to embarrassed recognition. He refrains from smiling and waving.

It’s gotten out that he’s a bona fide Vault Hunter with a solid reputation. While Rythian would rather lay low, reputations have their uses. The two sidle off, grumbling about ‘fucking Vault Hunters doing whatever they want’.

“Rythian! Hey, here’s your drinks, now shove off so my friend can sit down...” Ravs affectionately shooes away a few other patrons so Rythian can fit in. He leans on the counter. 

Rythian copies him, save for snagging a chair. His legs still won’t fit under the counter, not without rearranging them in a certain manner. There, now he can get comfortable.

“Ravs! Busy night already?” While the Crooked Caber’s busy at this hour, today seems awfully  _ busier _ than usual.

“Yep, it’s the last round of the monthly trivia tournament before storm season, so we’re trying to cover the last questions in the box,” Ravs explains.

“Ravs, I need another…” Nilesy’s request gets lost due to a table being dropped behind Rythian. Swearing adds a familiar punch to the background noise. No bar on Pandora would be complete without somebody spewing profanities happening.

Ravs heard Nilesy, in spite of the commotion. He removes a smoky bottle from the shelf above his head. It’s tossed behind his back to Nilesy, all without him physically turning around.

Nilesy catches it, one-handedly popping the bottle cap off and pouring it into three mugs (lined up with a bartender’s precision) on the counter. Not a single drop’s spilled. That neat trick earns a round of impressed applause from the crowd watching. 

“Thank you, thank you, the tip jar is right this way! For every ten tips, I’ll do a trick of your choice...”

“You want a refill for your flask?” Ravs raises an eyebrow. There’s a proud smile on his lips for Nilesy’s showcasing, like a teacher watching the student’s hard work pay off at last.

“Nope, I’m trying not to drink today,” Rythian confesses.

Ravs smiles at  _ him _ , eliciting a familiar, brief bout of violent butterflies in Rythian’s gut. “I knew you could do it!”

Rythian doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s not exactly quit the whole ‘drink to drown the nightmares or feeling like shit’ deal yet, opting to simply nod.

All around the bar, people are beginning to draw up chairs to tables (bickering over the remaining seats), the last of the teams being sent over to the stage to submit team names.

The bar’s lighting been dimmed down, owing to the wooden stage being set up in one corner. FyreUK are bustling around on it, setting up sound equipment, a wobbly-looking lottery wheel on a stand, microphones, chairs and a prize booth. There’s even a red set of moth eaten curtains (probably stolen from a defunct theatre) being hauled up by a couple of helpful Bloody Bandits. 

Parvis himself is demonstrating a riff on his bass guitar for FyreUK, testing out the sound system as he plucks away. His tongue is sticking out of the side of his mouth in concentration.

“You’re letting the Bloody Bandits into Sanctuary Hole?”

“They’ve been behaving.” Ravs mixes up a couple of drinks, sliding them along the bar to whoever ordered them. He ignores the thanks he gets, keeping his attention on Rythian. “Plus, Turps has been pretty lax about letting them come into town for the occasional drink.”

“I thought you hated Turps?” Rythian gives him a searching look. His friend’s previously been pretty adamant on both matters.

“Hate?” Ravs laughs like Rythian’s just proposed that skags can fly. “No, never! It’s all in the past. Man’s really turned over a new leaf, ever since he became meriff.” The way he says it makes it sound like Turps is an old acquaintance of this; this irritates Rythian for a reason that he can’t work out.

“I still don’t trust him,” Rythian warily says.

“He won that election fair and square, Rythian.” Ravs glances left and right, before adding in a low, conspiratorial whisper (featuring a playful undertone), “Him winning has allowed me a bit more wriggle room to go  _ places _ so I’m not complaining.”

That is, until he finds out the whole ‘Turps rigged the election’ secret. 

Behind Ravs’ back, Nilesy whips around to signal to Rythian. It’s via a complicated series of gestures that manage to almost stump the sign language translation program in his HUD. Even Teep didn’t sign that fast to the point of their hands blurring, not unless it’s an emergency.

“Don’t you dare tell him or this iced cat cookie gets it.” Poker faced, Nilesy lifts up a cat cookie (the iced smiley face and whiskers adorably crooked). His fingers find the head of the cookie, miming snapping it in half.

The cat cookie deserves better, so it’s time to change topic.

Refusing to allow Ravs the luxury of a deadeye or a provocative reaction, Rythian stares at the ceiling. Placated, Nilesy returns to bartending amidst dropped jaws and baffled stares. The cat cookie’s dropped into the bowl alongside the others.

The ceiling’s made of dark wooden planks. Compared to  Ravs, it’s a lesser improvement in terms of a view. One of Zoeya’s indestructible pencils is stuck there (probably leftover from a dart game), sticking out of a squiggly knot. He should point that out to Ravs before somebody loses an eye once gravity wins. 

There’s also a cat picture taped there (and over almost every single wall of the bar, now that he thinks about it). 

“What’ll it take you to stop your innuendos?”

“A million dollars,” Ravs automatically says, leaning back. “Plus one night of your company, which I think isn’t asking too much…”

“I’ve already given you a night of my company.” Rythian gives him a sardonic look. The nice part about having butterflies earlier means that he doesn’t have to suffer them again so soon. 

Plus, what would Ravs even  _ do _ with all that money, aside from sending it back home to his formidable mother? Rythian’s never met her. 

He has, on the other hand, overheard a couple of conversations, featuring said mother and her impossibly strong accent that Ravs fortunately, didn’t inherit much of. He’d offered to introduce her to Rythian. Rythian declined, fearing that he’ll be cross-sectioned and put under a magnifying glass for intense, maternal scrutiny.

“I did it!” Nilesy strikes a pose after his latest bartender trick. One of the Bloody Bandits enthusiastically lobs handfuls of homemade confetti at him. Pieces stick it Nilesy’s hair, making it look like he’s dipped his head into a bucket of multicoloured hair clips. He doesn’t appear to mind.

Anyway, Rythian belatedly adds, “In fact, loads of times, which you seem to have conveniently  _ forgotten _ already.”

“Hey, I never forgot our first time,” Ravs counters, with a smoothness that steals Rythian’s chance to elaborate. “Don’t you remember? You passed out-”

“Ravs, I passed out because I was  _ starving _ to death.” That’s it, Rythian can’t help letting out a chuckle at the memory. It’s one of the few (intact) memories he doesn’t mind revisiting from time to time, in spite of the events that’d led up to it. 

It’s been years, and yet. He wouldn’t be standing here today if it hadn’t been for Ravs’ kindness. Ravs had never asked for payment of any kind, or established that a debt’s owed.

That one chuckle might have been what Ravs was going for. “See, our first time really was unforgettable.”

An eyeroll from Rythian gets across how he feels about the alleged first time, in comparison to Ravs’ smugness. “Sure it was.”

“If you’re not drinking tonight, you can have this,” Ravs presents a flashy glass bottle, placing it on the counter. If bottles had racing stripes, this one would have a stadium sized racetrack of its own.

“Pink lemonade,” Rythian reads out once he’s picked it up. “How’d you get this?” Pink lemonade isn’t an item that the local vending machines readily stocked, not unless one knew exactly where to look or go.

“Who do you know has a premium ration subscription?” Ravs nods in greeting at Zoeya, who’s giggling at Saberial arguing with HybridPanda. The trio stomp upstairs to get a table.

The stuck pencil above Rythian jiggles alarmingly. He shifts an inch to the left. It if falls, it won’t hit anything important.

Old Sereno (who’s wearing Turps’ cowboy hat at a jaunty angle) slouches past with a grinning Turps in tow. Turps is trying very hard not to look at Ravs. Ravs glances over. He waves, causing Turps to trip and powerwalk (all while cursing, prior to exiting stage left).

Rythian can name a few people off the top of his head. None of them would be inclined to give away precious lemonade, not unless they’re averse to sugar. The person responsible is probably hitting up Three Horns for a bout of hunting until HybridPanda left the town. Lomadia’s probably off with Teep, if she’s not cheering Nilesy on.

Trivia nights didn’t seem like the sort of place that Teep or Lomadia enjoyed on their own. Then again, trivia night posed a fun place to catch up with others.

“I’ll have to thank them later.” Rythian accepts the bottle. Definitely no complaints from him about somebody else’s generosity.

The bottle itself is light, curving in a pleasing way and wonderfully cold. There’s probably multiple buckets of ice underneath the counter, one of which Ravs saved to keep the lemonade cool, all to pass onto him. The condensation soaks the bandages wrapped around his hand, reminding him of grabbing a handful of wet snow.

“Bah, why are you thanking them, and not me?” Ravs pretends to sound disgruntled.

“You're just the messenger,” Rythian points out, grinning in spite of himself. He puts the bottle aside for later.

“Don’t let the couriers hear you say that, or your mail’s going to end up mixed in with mine three months later.”

“That’s fine, I don’t even get any mail to mix with yours.” He tries to sound flippant.  _ Tries. _ Getting mail’s proof of existing, a deed which he’s been skipping out on.

After delivering a sympathetic look, Ravs reaches down; Rythian desperately reins in the thoughts of where he’s keeping his digistruct modules. Ravs drops a handful of assorted letters in front of Rythian, all of them in varying states of cleanliness. They spread out all over the counter with a papery rustle.

The nicest is a cream white, featuring a (wow) red wax seal. The last contender is a crinkled napkin with paragraphs of chicken scratch handwriting crammed onto it. Each paragraph is detailing an explicit act involving their face and Ravs’- Rythian tears his eyes away, trying not to think too hard about it because a crowded bar’s the last place where he wants to have any sort of embarrassing biological reaction happen. Especially in front of Ravs.

“Whoops, didn’t mean to include that one.” Ravs’ hand plucks away the torn halves of a crumpled, purple letter held together with duct tape. Rythian glimpses ‘ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY NOW?’ printed in black marker across the back.

“Okay, I’m not reading your mail for you, you know how to do that on your own now.” Rythian can’t help deadeying Ravs.

“Guess who I have to thank for that?” Ravs winks.

“Thank Teep, they actually got the concept to stick.” Rythian partially succeeds in looking modest. Secretly, he’s rather proud of passing an important skill to Ravs.

“I can make other things stick too-”

With a finger, Nilesy pokes Ravs in the back. “Need your help for this next trick, I can’t get the pin off by myself.” Beaming, he holds up a mixer, plus an incendiary grenade. That raises questions. A  _ lot  _ of questions.

“Better not be the one that involves setting my bar on fire again,” Ravs notes. “I’ll be back in a bit, Rythian.”

Letting him go to help out Nilesy, Rythian picks the white letter up, flipping it open. Huh, the wax seal’s already broken. Inside is a poem, handwritten on a single page free of blemishes. Five seconds later, he slips it back into the envelope, dropping it as he adopts a poker face to rival Teep’s.

Right, nobody saw him choke once he’d analysed the words.

Ravs appears in front of Rythian again, dusting off his hands. “Right, that went rather well, compared to the first two times he practiced...” Behind him, miniature flames pop and crackle on the miniature shot glasses Nilesy’s tending to, with thunderous applause from his growing audience.

“Do you actually read all the letters you get?”

“I do, actually.” Ravs gives Rythian a miffed look for suggesting that he just tosses them out without seeing who they’re from first. “Some of them are actually thank you letters I get from helping out FyreUK’s advice column.”

Well, the letter Rythian had picked up had  _ not  _ read like a normal thank you letter, proving rather descriptive (excessively so, featuring purple prose). “They’re very...thankful.” No, no blushing; Ravs is probably trolling him.

“Most of them are quite nice.” Ravs beams, his hand nudging some of the letters over. “Here, you can have some.” The white letter and the napkin’s included.

“These ones are all love letters!” Rythian nudges them back the other way like he’s shooing a few of Zoeya’s domesticated skag pups away from his loose, chewable boot laces.

“Take them, I got enough to fill a storage unit twice over,” Ravs firmly says. “You’re doing me a massive favour if you take them.”

“That’s nice, but you should keep them, they’re probably very precious to you!”

“Well, they’re precious enough to give to you!”

“I’ll take them if you don’t want them,” declares Nilesy, sweeping the batch of letters into his arms as he passes. An empty waiter’s tray is balanced on his head. Rythian shoots a grateful look at him as he scuttles off.

Sighing, Ravs shakes his head. “He does that every single time once I’m done reading them.”

“Don’t you get worried about what he does with them?”

“Rythian, I get so many letters that all those ones don’t exactly matter. Well, except for yours, Nilesy’s, Teep’s, Lomadia’s...” Ravs begins to list off people, counting them off with his fingers as he does so. “I always keep those ones,” He cheerfully says once he’s finished listing names.

A bit of guilt flutters inside of Rythian for not having ever sent Ravs a letter, ever. Or staying in touch, really. He hadn’t even called once in all those years he’d gone missing.

Over by the stage (with the tray still balancing on his head), Nilesy’s persuading Parvis (like Parvis needed any persuasion on the matter) and Sparkles to set on fire a few of the letters. A barrel spurts smoke and enough heat to delight Parvis.

People are swaying and chanting, pulling out lighters when they mistake a manically grinning Parvis and Sparkles instigating a crowd event. An unfazed BruteAlmighty is on standby with a fire extinguisher in hand. 

At the other end of the stage, IFirez is calling for last minute stragglers. “Last chance to participate, we got a crate of Ravs’ moonshine up for the taking as first prize!”

“It’s going to get really crowded in about ten. I think you should head up to the second floor if you don’t want to get squashed,” Ravs tactfully suggests (missing Nilesy gleefully feeding letters to the roaring fire). “By the way, I saw Lalna head up there a while ago.”

“Thanks, good luck with the bar.” Rythian steps back with the bottle of pink lemonade in hand, taking a moment to pin down Lalna’s location. He teleports upstairs.

The second floor is reserved for Ravs’ social inner circle. Rythian ends up beside a booth where Lalna’s hiding out. His sudden appearance has Lalna scrambling back with an ear-splitting shriek. Lalnable, Strippin and Benji snicker at the event. Everybody else pretends not to do so.

“Sorry,” Rythian hastily says, sliding into the booth. He puts down the bottle of pink lemonade.

It doesn’t escape him that teleporting’s becoming easier to the point of second nature. He probably shouldn’t be using it this much. On the other hand, it’s improved his life in a number of minor ways, like speeding up the process of getting around (Ravs would really appreciate that one).

“You should give me a warning before you pop up like that,” Lalna mumbles, righting himself in the booth. He reaches for his drink, taking a sip.

It’s darker on the second floor, though the spectacle of trivia night finally being underway sends kaleidoscopic spots and eye-catching flashes of disco lights spinning across the floorboards and walls. Color splashes over Lalna’s drawn face (the last of his sunburn finally healing up) and goggles.

He should have been trying to catch them, as entranced as a kid who’d only ever lived in a desert encountering their very first bout of snowfall.

“Why’re you sitting alone?” Rythian wants to know. Usually, he’d be hard-pressed to find Lalna willingly separated from Lalnable whenever the two are in the same room.

“Didn’t feel like talking to people,” Lalna glumly responds. He keeps his eyes on his drink, metal fingers curling around the handle. The sagging bags under his eyes weren’t there a few months ago.

“You can always talk to me.” Rythian reaches below the floor to nick an empty mug from Ravs. It’s right before Ravs’ hand can close on it. ImaginIng the look on Ravs’ face for being swindled out of a mug, and knowing that he’ll be too busy to retrieve it, makes Rythian nearly chuckle. It’s almost worth Ravs getting back at him later.

“Yeah, thanks.” The way Lalna looks at him before diverting his gaze worries Rythian. 

“Did I do something to upset you?” Rythian tries asking, choosing the open, honest approach rather than building up to it.

All the rampant noises from below provides the perfect cover to have a serious conversation. The lazy, thrumming riff Parvis was testing out earlier opens the way to the first round of questions, all general knowledge.

Lalna remains silent for almost two minutes before responding softly, “No.” He seems like he’s about to cry, his head drooping. Not wanting to be the cause of any tears or accusing glances, Rythian tactfully retreats from that line of questioning. There’s not much to talk about, so the two sit in relative silence.

He wouldn’t say it’s comfortable. Comfortable’s for when two people are talking to each other without one looking like their dog’s just died, and the other is only here because they don’t want to spending a whole night all alone with a flask to talk to.

Awkward isn’t the word either. It’s just that the two of them don’t have anything to share. In the past, Lalna tends to let his mouth run so that Rythian engages him. The past isn't now (and sometimes, that’s a simple concept his brain gets snagged on).

He kind of misses all the easygoing talk that plodded on with no set rhythm, wandering from topic to topic.

Occasionally, people will boo or scream with a round of applause nearly making the second floor shake. At some point, a drunk Strippin spills his mug when shouting down an answer, only for a sober Benji to shush him and remind him that he’s not playing today (not after last time’s post-victory brawl).

Lalna rises, edging out of the booth seat. Before Rythian can stop him, he mumbles, “Good night.” He heads down the stairs, Rythian forlornly staring after his ruffled, blond head of hair. Lalna hadn’t even looked at him.

Taking the forgotten mug in hand, Rythian peers into the drink that remains unfinished. It isn’t even that interesting to look at. There’s a bit left. When he sniffs it, it’s definitely one of Ravs’ homemade brews, the ones he saved for those who needed a pick-me-up rather than the hard stuff. It looks like it hadn’t worked.

Well, logically, there’s Lalnable to consult. When Lalnable slips away to refill his drink, Rythian follows him back to his booth. Lalna’s mug is left behind.

Released from his duty of providing musical entertainment by swapping with Sparkles, Parvis is minding Lalnable’s seat. He nods at Rythian, slipping away to go get his own drink. Rythian has a hunch that after the last time they met, Parvis isn’t that keen to chat, seeming just as nervous as Lalna around him.

It’s refreshing how Lalnable doesn’t care about reputations or previous histories.

“Rythian.” There’s no curling of his lips, no disparaging or acidic remark, just like they’d agreed on. “While bearing in mind that today is my only day off, how are you?”

That’s as close as Rythian will get to a civil, polite greeting from him. “Fine, fine.”

“Well? Is this about Lalna?”

“Yeah, it is.” It’s good that he doesn’t have to beat around the bush with Lalnable either. “Is Lalna okay? He seems to be...” Avoiding me, is what Rythian wants to say. “Down, that’s all.”

Parvis creeps back over to the booth with his own concoction housed in a fortress of a tankard. Without a peep, he scoots over, sitting besides Lalnable. There’s a protectiveness to the way he settles besides him.

“He’s not dying or anything, if that’s what making you so nosy,” Lalnable observes, sipping from a foaming mug of Ravs’ finest brew. One of his hands automatically slaps Parvis’ curious hand reaching over to steal his mug for an experimental sip. “You have your own, Parvis.”

“Yours looks tastier,” Parvis says, pouting like a five year old being told that they’re not allowed to have a sip of coffee.

“So Lalna’s not sick?”

Upon seeing that the statement isn’t doing much to alleviate Rythian’s obvious fretting, Lalnable sighs. One of his hands rubs at his forehead. “Still worried? I don’t blame you.” The honest admission that he doesn’t know is surprising. Rythian had been counting on Lalnable to be in the know about his twin. “I’ve told him to come in for a check-up involving basic bloodwork and arm calibrations. I’d even let you hold his hand as I take blood.”

“I don’t think he’d agree if he knew you’re taking blood,” Rythian mildly says. Privately, he agrees that Lalna could do with a detailed check-up. It bothers him that Lalnable and him know that there’s something happening to Lalna and they don’t know what it is.

“Yeah, taking blood isn’t easy if people keep passing out!” Parvis happily contributes, glancing from one to the other. “You also got to get the needle in right, just so you can hit the blue thingy in their arm or else you got to stab them again…”

“That’s nice to know,” Rythian weakly says, drawing back so Parvis doesn’t whack him (or his drink) when acting out the procedure. 

The pink lemonade serves as a minor distraction so he doesn’t have to think if red is supposed to be the right colour for his blood. Or anybody’s blood, really. Also, since when did Parvis start playing doctor? He’s more likely to send people to a doctor, Rythian feels.

Lalnable reaches over to tenderly knuckle Parvis in the back of the head. “Parvis, taking blood is  _ not _ meant to be painful or traumatic, not unless you’re trying to scar someone for life.”

“But it’s so cool, watching blood fill the capsule!” Parvis exclaims, his face lit up in spite of the pseudo noogie he’s getting; Lalnable isn’t tall enough to properly reach the top of his head.

“I thought you were squeamish about blood?” Lalnable recalls, dropping his hand to the table.

“Only when it’s my own!” Parvis grins at him, entirely shameless about admitting a weakness. Two of his front teeth are missing. He’s also likely to send people to a dentist.

At that moment, Rythian snorts into his drink. Fortunately, his mug’s half-empty, so it doesn’t exactly go sloshing everywhere and inconveniencing Ravs or Nilesy later. “What kind of a bandit are you, if you don’t like seeing your own blood?” 

Fact: bandits tended to lose it when blood’s spilled. Another fact: if it’s their own blood, expect them to  _ especially  _ lose their shit.

“Excuse me, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bandit who’s still  _ alive, _ ” Parvis defensively retorts, looking mighty offended at the insinuation that he’s not a proper bandit.

“Be quiet, I’m talking to Rythian here,” Lalnable interrupts, his tone chastising Parvis.

“Whatever,” Parvis flippantly says, chugging his drink.

“Talk to Lalna,” Lalnable advises, raising an anticipatory hand above Parvis’ back.

When Rythian waits for further advice from Lalnable and gets none, he frowns. “That’s it?”

“Talk to him,” Lalnable repeats like Rythian hadn't heard him the first time. “Move your mouth. Make sounds that make sense to other people. It’s not hard. Look, I’m doing it right now.” 

Parvis snorts into his own drink, nearly spilling it onto the table. He starts to cough when a few drops go down the wrong way. That earns a ghost of a smirk from Lalnable. The hand waiting above Parvis’ back begins to thump down, helping Parvis out.

“T-thanks,” Parvis gasps, dribbling drink down his chin.

“I tried that earlier,” Rythian stresses, teleporting up a napkin for Parvis. Downstairs, Turps wonders where the hell his last napkin went; the stringy melted cheese sticking to his fingers ends up trailing on top of the table.

“And it didn’t go so well.”

“No, it fucking didn’t, and I know you were watching.”

“I see nothing gets past you.”

“I’m asking for your help,” Rythian grounds out.

“Thanks!” Parvis takes the offered napkin to daintily mop at his mouth.

“You’re welcome.”

Lalnable eyes Rythian with a familiar weariness. “If Lalna’s physically sick, then I can do something. If it’s all in his mind, I can’t.” The look in Lalnable’s eyes suggests that Rythian had better understand that, and fast. Better yet, stop being a hypocrite.

“You’re a doctor-”

“I’m a surgeon, to be precise, but I’m not a miracle worker.” Lalnable puts aside his mug, staring at Rythian critically. “He’ll listen to you.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Keep trying. It’s bound to get through to him one of these days. By the way, if you find my calibration tool, bring it back to me, would you?”

“What tool?”

“The one I used to adjust your eyes- never mind, I’ll ask Parvis to look for it.”

“Wasn’t me this time,” Parvis defensively says, finding Lalnable’s mug and latching onto it.

“I’ll let you know about his check-up. Thanks for talking.” Rythian knows when he’s hit a brick wall in the conversation. “Later.” Parvis doesn’t say anything, simply raising Lalnable’s mug in farewell with a plastered expression.

“Good luck,” Lalnable adds as an afterthought that Rythian barely catches on his way over to Zoeya, Saberial and Panda's table.

The three are sequestered in a roomy niche that Rythian’s almost certain is on top of the bar. Below, the bar’s floor is a cacophony of sound, laughter, arguments plus whatever befits a busy social scene. It’s an easy night for him to forget about his worries (especially about Lalna). He figures he can try to relax tonight. Tomorrow, he’ll deal with his friend.

Zoeya scoots over to make room for him, snuggling up against Saberial. “Rythian, have you met HybridPanda?” She’s forced to shout to be heard over the game show style music ushering in the second round of trivia (guns, this time).

“I have, actually!” Rythian leans over, nodding to said person.

“Call me Panda!” Panda waves a fingerless gloved hand in acknowledgement. Up close, Panda’s still as short as Rythian remembers. They’re browsing on their ECHO device, leaning back against the booth’s seat and taking up almost the whole area.

“Are you participating in the trivia night?” Zoeya asks, grinning at him.

“No! I don’t even know what the main topic is!”

“Me neither! I missed out the last two weeks due to those trips!”

“How were the trips, by the way?”

“Great!” Zoeya frowns, thumping the table, grumbling (adorably that is, to Rythian and Saberial), “Darn, I left my module in the caverns! I’ll show you all the pictures later!”

“Sure!” Rythian wants to know if Teep had changed clothing for the swamp and beach environments. He doubts it. Also, chances are that Zoeya’s million pictures consist of wildlife with the occasional, accidental cameo of people.

“Panda, can you get me a refill?” Saberial requests. She's in her mercenary gear this time, looking like she’s ready to head out any moment, as with Panda. Despite that, Zoeya doesn’t appear to mind the practical outfit, appearing approving of it even.

“Sure, I want another cola too!” Panda slouches off down the stairs with the empty glasses. 

As they leave, Rythian can’t help but note the way that Panda appears to prefer one leg over the other, an odd gait that has him wondering if they’ve got a prosthetic. Well, he knows that they have an artificial knee. It must need a tune-up if it’s this off balance; he makes a mental note to work in a recommendation for seeing Lalnable or Lalna.

“You should go too, Zoeya! Panda’s too short to reach the counter.” Saberial lets out a laugh at her own joke.

“That’s really mean of you! Panda can’t help how short they are!” Zoeya pretends to be shocked at Saberial’s remark, smacking her in the arm.

Saberial continues to laugh, gently shoving her away. “Just make sure Panda doesn’t start any fights, okay?” Zoeya kisses her on the cheek, before sliding off and hurrying after Panda. The remark’s already forgotten.

Rythian raises an eyebrow when Saberial leans forward,  her content and besotted look switching to a serious one. This must be the look she uses on prospective clients. He almost sits up straighter, expecting a haggle of sorts.

Whispering’s not an easy feat when the whole bar seems bent on having people shout to talk. “Hey, uh, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention Teep within a hundred metre radius of Panda.”

“Yeah, that’s something I’ve been wondering about.” Rythian mimics her whispering. “What’s up with that?”

Saberial rummages in her inventory. Her searching hand conjures a bounty poster, aged to the point of crumbling flakes at the corners. Cracks spread all across it, fooling anyone at a first glance into thinking that it’s a piece of ratty parchment.

Rythian stares at the mugshot plastered on the poster. The amount on said poster would be enough to make any veteran bounty hunter cancel any other chase; bringing Teep in would set them up for life. Minty had brandished an exact copy at Teep; Teep had dismissed it with a flick of a hand, indicating a lack of fucks given.

“I think I get the picture,” Rythian says at last, his lips twitching at his own pun. “Thanks for telling me.” Teep had also never explained to him why they’d come to Pandora. He guesses that Panda’s involved. Aside from that, he can’t even begin to speculate.

Saberial pockets the poster, giving him a relieved smile. “I’ve told Zoeya. She doesn’t get it, but if it’s important to me, then she’ll respect it. Keeping Panda away whenever Teeps’s around is tricky, though.”

Fuck it, he indulges his nagging curiosity. “Their leg. Is it alright?”

“Yes, it’s a prosthetic.” Saberial sighs. “You can ask about it, they don’t mind that. Just don’t ask about how they got it, not unless you want to join on a fruitless chase.”

“How long did it take Panda to…?” Rythian gestures downwards, towards where his leg is.

“A couple of years, give or take a couple of false starts,” Saberial softly says. “Therapy and all that took ages, plus Panda was insistent on going after Teep the second they got cleared to leave.”

“I know how it feels. Took me a couple of months to get used to these.” Rythian gestures to his set of cybernetic eyes.

He takes a sip of his drink to stop his mood rollercoasting towards ‘self-inflicted misery’, thanks to his memories entangling with the present. The sweetness that fills his mouth grounds him, prying the past off from the now.

Patting his scarf down stops it from interfering with his drinking, also letting him find the trinket (yep, still there, as always).

Saberial peers at him thoughtfully. “I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t butt in on Teep and Panda’s spat.”

“Why would you think I’d do that?” Rythian carefully says, aware of the initial itch to meddle. Teep can handle their own fights, as they’ve been doing for years now.

“All I’m saying is that Panda and Teep don’t like people meddling in their business.”

“You included?”

“Me, especially.” Saberial chuckles, with a nostalgic (and melancholy) smile. “Boy, do they always used to let me know it.”

A head of spiky, white hair appears, followed by a body at the stairs. Saberial winks at Rythian, turning to Panda and Zoeya. Her smile’s replaced by a confident grin. That’s right, nothing’s happening here, move along.

Sitting next to Rythian this time, Panda slides a glass of pale-blue bubbling water towards Saberial. Their own glass is planted on a coaster. “Your drink. That’ll be five dollars for delivery.” Expectant fingers waggle at Saberial. “Come on, pay up, I almost kicked someone in the nuts ‘cause they almost elbowed me in the eye.”

She rolls her eyes, exaggerating counting out change. They’re dropped into Panda’s drink with a sad plop. Bubbles float up to the surface of the glass. Panda frowns. “That won’t taste good.”

“You got your change, didn’t you?” Saberial’s grin widens. Panda digistructs a dessert spoon to try to fish out the change. Their look of annoyance says it all, really.

“I brought chips!” Zoeya presents a wooden bowl almost overflowing with crinkle cut chips. “Eat up, they’re good when fresh!” The bowl lands in the middle of the table, scattering chips everywhere.

“Serves you right for trying to charge me, seeing as I invited you here tonight,” Saberial says as she rests an arm around Zoeya’s shoulders, drawing her closer in a show of casual endearance.

“Fair enough.” Panda eyes Rythian briefly with a look of ‘look, see how I suffer from having a sister like her’.

Sympathising, Rythian wonders if it’s the telltale glow of a cybernetic eye he can see through their black eyepatch. The second floor’s lighting is patchy, likely to instill a sense of privacy, buffering those from the first floor’s shenanigans. He puts it down to the disco lights bouncing off all the walls currently interfering with his perception.

“So, what brought you to Sanctuary Hole?” Rythian tries asking Panda.

“I could have gone and wrecked some shit with a few buddies online, but no, she insisted that I had to spend some time with real people,” Panda easily answers, wiping off the wet change on a napkin. They wince as underneath the table, a boot swiftly collides with their flesh shin. Pebbles would fear the force of that kick.

“You can’t blame me for making sure my younger sibling isn’t cooped up all the time in their ship,” Saberial says, letting Zoeya feed her a chip.

“Yeah, think of all the friends you could potentially meet!” Zoeya enthusiastically says, munching on another chip she takes. “Like how I met Rythian! Oh, oh, that’s a great story. Want to hear it?”

“Hold on, I got to be drunk first,” Panda says, holding up a hand. They down their whole glass in a few gulps, slamming the glass down with a grin that makes it look like they’re about to tear someone’s arm off. “Ugh, the change made it taste all weird.”

“That’s my line,” Rythian says, taking the chip that Zoeya offers him. It’s Nilesy’s cooking this time; Ravs adds a light dusting of salt while Nilesy doesn’t.

“Nice set of chompers.” Panda considers him with an odd expression. “Where’d you get that body mod from?”

“My teeth are naturally sharp,” Rythian responds once he’s swallowed. He takes another chip from the bowl. “And wasn’t that just cola in your glass?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Panda retorts, proceeding to grumble, “I’m not allowed alcohol while I’m taking painkillers.”

He almost asks what the painkillers are for, working out in a second that not all installed prosthetics eased pain after a while. “You should go see Lalnable if your leg’s giving you problems.”

“Are you talking about the grouchy guy over there, the one arguing with a drunk bandit?” Panda jabs a thumb in Lalnable’s direction.

When Rythian glances over, the two are indeed, doing just that. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“He any good? The last doc on Elpis who looked at my leg made it worse.”

“He’s very good,” Rythian vouches, keeping his voice down so Lalnable doesn’t catch on that he’s recommending him to others. “Just don’t go to the guy who looks exactly like him, not unless you’re out of options.”

As Panda tries to work this out, Zoeya cuts in. “Lalnable’s got a twin brother named Lalna, and it really, really annoys him whenever people get the two of them mixed up.”

“Twins, huh?” Panda coolly watches Lalnable. “Where’s he hang out when he’s doing all his medical stuff”

“Three Horns.” Rythian forwards the coordinates to Panda, earning an approving look (and possibly a ton of brownie points) from Saberial.

“Thanks, I might hit him up sometime.”

“About time, I was thinking your leg might explode if you left it any longer,” Saberial lectures.

“It’s not going to explode if I calibrate it every day!” Panda counters. “You’d have to be really fucking stupid to make it explode!”

Well, Rythian knows one person who’d achieved exactly that. That said, he tunes out the story of how he and Zoeya met. He’s heard it at least fifty times. Zoeya won’t ever tire of telling it, not while the story’s at his whole expense. He’s also given up on correcting her at every turn.

When FyreUK announces the winning team, Rythian’s shocked to find out that he’d spent almost the whole night in the Crooked Caber.

People are filing out, yawning and staggering off. Tables left behind will be collected in the morning, provided that nobody’s out to steal the ones belonging to others. Ravs’ own tables have been bolted to the floor, so there’s no worries about anybody making off with those.

Rythian bids Zoeya, Saberial and Panda goodnight, yawning himself. He hadn’t seen Lalna slip back into the bar, despite all hopes of Lalna changing his mind.

He finds Ravs at the counter, assisted by Nilesy during the cleanup. There’s a pyramid of upturned glasses there that Nilesy’s trying to pack away, standing on top of a wobbling stool to reach the topmost one.

“Rythian, you’re still here, I see,” Ravs observes, leaning on a broom. He seems ready to throw in the towel for tonight, stifling a yawn of his own. “Did you enjoy your stay?”

“Yeah, I did,” Rythian says. Usually, whenever he attended a social outing, he’s inclined to wish he’d gone somewhere else with less of a migraine inducing racket.

“Good, good.” Ravs nods. “You’re free to stay and have some hot chocolate. I’m about to make some for myself and Nilesy, if you’re in?” He puts out a hand to steady the stool next to him when Nilesy teeters from side to side on it.

Ravs’ hot chocolate is a treat that’s almost worth wrangling threshers for. Also, Rythian hasn’t had it in months either. The three of them bring their mugs out into the bar. Nilesy leaves his mug on the counter, going over the floor with a broom, humming to himself.

“I talked to Lalnable about Lalna. He says that Lalna’s not really acting like himself,” Rythian explains to Ravs.

That earns a worried shake of Ravs’ head. “Just give him some space.” Ravs also advises, “Or wait for the other two to get back and have a chat to them first about what to do.”

Lalna’s not that particularly close to anyone else, so Rythian knows that he hasn’t opened up about what’s bothering him so much. 

Will and Nanosounds have yet to return from visiting Nanosounds’ parent. It’s not like Rythian can ECHO the two because it’ll just make them needlessly worry once he shares what’s going on.

“My cat-shaped cookies didn’t cheer him up either!” Nilesy comments as he passes. He flips a stray glass upside-down to let it dry out. Said glass showers a rainbow cloud of confetti onto the floor, annoying him.

Nilesy’s famous cat-shaped cookies hadn’t worked either on improving Lalna’s mood, causing Nilesy to sulk until Honeydew nearly burst everyone’s eardrums upon discovering the treats in their bowl. In spite of Xephos’ kind invitations to get Lalna to nerd out over technology with them, Lalna headed off shortly after.

Rythian learns all this as he chats to Ravs and Nilesy. He finishes up the night by wishing them a good evening too, trekking to the building next door where all the Vault Hunters in town are staying.

It’s no small coincidence that Lalna’s room is next to his.

He stares at the closed door for a few minutes, wondering if Lalna’s asleep at this point. If he listens carefully, he can nearly hear Lalna’s quiet snoring.

Shrugging, Rythian enters his own room, digging out his flask to down a mouthful. A mouthful won’t block out his ambivalent feelings but it might convince them to leave him alone for tonight.

\--

He dreams of what’s on his back eating him from the inside out, waking up to grope for the bedside light. The ceiling presses down on him, oppressive and heavy like it’s trying to squash him flat on the bed. His hand finds the string to the lamp, tugging it like it’s his last hope. The light snaps on. Automatically, the ceiling rises, drawing back.

Drenched in a cold sweat in spite of the heat wave layering the room, Rythian rips off the sheets to sit up. He tugs his shirt off, touching a finger to the bit of skin above one shoulder.

No change. 

His brain’s fucking with him, it appears. There’s no point to putting his shirt back on, not when it’ll get covered in sweat. Leaving it off, Rythian drags his flask out from his digistruct module.

A second mouthful eases him into restless slumber.

\--

The Southern Shelf is a series of glaciers bridged by expanses of ice sheets. Kept frozen by subzero degree winds, the glaciers remain anchored to the southern part of the west coast. 

Those who made it past the temperamental currents capable of sinking ships in the blink of an eye, the inhospitable stretches of empty ocean, and rumours of sea monsters who feigned the appearances of land masses in the hopes of a free meal, would be hard pressed to call the Southern Shelf region ‘welcoming’.

The establishment of a Fast Travel Station made moving in significantly easier, as with the construction of a railway system far above the waterline. Still, the standing record of highest numbers of visitors within a month remains unbroken at a measly six people (all of whom arrived by accident and bizarrely, all at the same time).

Current Southern Shelf populace (strictly humans, that is): less than fifty.

Few braved the monstrous weather out of the need to survive by living off the land (and occasionally, a fellow human being or creature). Even fewer braved it voluntarily, save for Vault Hunters.

However, everybody knows that Vault Hunters aren’t normal folk. It takes a special kind of someone to chase after a legend, and even then, another kind of special to persist in the face of death and what life fondly deemed ‘occupational hazard’.

Ranked amongst the top five causes of grievous bodily harm to Vault Hunters is ‘being turned into pulp by wildlife’.

As someone who’s been more or less on the receiving and giving end of that, Rythian would give up the opportunity to find the highly coveted legendary weapons to avoid all and any future missions given by Zoeya. She paid well, don’t get him wrong; it’s the part between accepting the job and getting paid that he loathes.

Today’s mission involves checking on a collection of live footage cameras posted around the Southern Shelf. What she hadn’t bothered to tell him until he’d accepted the job was that said cameras are located on the glaciers in places that humans didn’t frequent.

“Teep placed the cameras!” Zoeya had explained, with an apologetic laugh. Saberial hadn’t been there to talk her out of it, and Teep didn’t seem inclined to volunteer themself for the task.

The wrinkled, coffee stained map to guide Rythian towards the first camera isn’t much help. She’d frisked Teep’s lonely island of a desk for it, always a heart-stopping matter while Teep’s still in the building.

Loitering in the room, they’d silently dared Rythian and Lalna to comment on their fantastic camera placement as the two scrutinised the grainy satellite map of the area. The map had broken through Lalna’s mood, piquing his interest for the time being.

What the hell did the crude arrow pointing to the top of the glacier  _ mean _ ? Why are there lines upon lines criss-crossing the glaciers like a drunk transit map? It didn’t matter that there’s gaps between the glaciers, that one gets a bridge, that one gets a bridge too, they  _ all  _ got bridges, even the floe breaking away from the whole cluster.

All the lines are different colors. Some changed color halfway through, scrawled carelessly as though Teep had run out of marker and grabbed the first available one at hand to pick up where the line had left off. There’s even lines done entirely in  _ crayon. _

Where had Zoeya gotten  _ crayons  _ from, on Pandora? That’s akin to asking Nilesy if Nilesy hated cats.

She’d even named a few of the outstanding glaciers (featuring great names such as ‘Lesbo, ‘Datlof’, ‘Cabertown’ that he suspects are a result of interactions with other people).

It’d taken Rythian and Lalna twenty minutes to figure out that the blocky, cross-hatched circles are supposed to be cameras and not loot caches. Disappointing, but Rythian suspects that Teep wouldn’t be so idiotic as to leave their precious loot caches so clearly marked. Rythian wouldn’t put it past Teep to have booby-trapped the everloving shit out of them to troll loot hunters.

The sunlight bouncing off all the glaciers isn’t that glaring compared to when it’s day out. Sunset bathes the landscape in a glaze diluted by the overcast sky. It lends a grey filter to the snow-laden scenery, lessening the potential eye-searing effect.

All in all, it’s not such terrible weather to go hiking about in, in the arctics.

Considering what Zoeya’s other missions usually consisted of, Rythian thinks that he and Lalna have gotten lucky this time. Checking on hidden cameras isn’t too bad, compared to wrangling thresher tadpoles into collection boxes or getting a hold of stalker hide clippings. He still has the scars for all those jobs on his face and other bits of his body.

After an uneventful arrival at Liar’s Berg’s Fast Travel Station, Rythian’s purchasing ammo while Lalna tramps about the town in his exploration. His neon-laced boots drag along the ground, scraping up newly fallen snow, exposing rock and lifeless dirt like he’s aiming to plough a miniature field of his own.

Rythian frowns at this display of dispirited behaviour, stashing the pistol ammo in his inventory. Lalna’s been off-color ever since he got back from Elpis. According to Ravs, he’d run into Minty up there. Well, Minty had a certain effect on people (notably those who reacted fantastically to her provocations).

Funny, he hadn’t taken Lalna to be her type. It still didn’t explain why Lalna seems distanced lately, sticking to his guest room in Sanctuary Hole. He ventured out to eat, drink, hang around the Crooked Caber when it’s happy hour. Otherwise, he kept to himself.

These days, he’s always chewing his lower lip until it’d cracked, bled, healed, and subsequently repeated the harmful cycle once he started chewing again.

Naturally, everyone assumed that Rythian’s getting to the bottom of Lalna’s persistent blues. The downside to their logical assumption is that Rythian hasn’t made any progress.

He’d been relieved when Lalna deigned to tag along on this mission, having turned down all the others people offered. Not going to get on Lalna’s case about pulling his weight, Rythian went on missions solo. Occasionally, Teep or Ravs tagged along but there’d been times where Rythian preferred to go alone.

He found it easier to think when it’s just him versus the world.

Now, Rythian closes his eyes. Walking across ice causes a satisfying crunch with every step. If he takes it a step further, he could pretend that it’s dead leaves he’s walking on and not accursed snow. Not today snow, he’s wearing boots meant for heavier, steeper terrain, perfect for where he’s going.

“Not far now,” Rythian says, breaking the conversational (heh) ice between him and Lalna.

“What?” The tone of the ‘what’ tells Rythian that Lalna must have been off with the clouds. 

Conversations with him also proved to be frustrating, what with Lalna drifting off and coming back to the conversation with no clue as to what Rythian’s been saying for the past five minutes. The check-up with Lalnable isn’t happening; for the first time, Lalna doesn't want to bother his twin.

“I said it’s not far now,” Rythian patiently repeats, paying forward the patience others had demonstrated when dealing with his own faults. He’s drawing from his own reserves, which won’t be replenished fast enough if this keeps up.

“Oh. Well, that’s great.” The lack of any enthusiasm whatsoever is both saddening and infuriating.

Rythian’s making every effort to engage him, and Lalna can’t be fucking bothered to return it. Based on everyone’s collective advice, it’s temporary, or at least, until Lalna gets his shit together to snap out of it. From afar, Rythian can only wait, dragging his suffering patience along so he doesn’t snap at Lalna or finally lose his temper.

Standing on the portion of the lake where his feet won’t touch the bottom if the ice gave out with his weight or the glacier’s unpredictable shifts, Rythian tests the ice’s thickness. He does this by teleporting an old crate nicked from a nearby building onto it. The crate skids across the ice, coming to a stop in the middle of the ‘lake’.

It might be permanently winter here, but he’s not taking any chances. Drowning’s a very real possibility out here, even with the protection of a shield.

When the ice doesn’t even crack, Rythian steps onto it,  striding towards the location marked on his HUD. Lalna’s trudging steps follow behind him. Compared to his own pace, Lalna’s steps are cautious like he doesn’t trust Rythian’s judgement or assessment of the ice being solid to stand on, let alone walk over.

The howling wind begins to pick up, heaving across the glaciers like it’s trying to push them across the ocean towards the mainland.

Where there’s nobody else around for miles, Rythian hears stories of people (wild game hunters or isolated folks, usually) dropping onto their knees, sobbing when the wind’s eerie cries sounds like the voice of another human being calling out to them. 

Bodies, preserved by the cold, have been found where cliffs merged with sections of isolated beach reachable only at low tide and in the dead of winter. Footprints at the top of the cliffs explained how the desperation for another soul to talk to killed people.

He’s never been that desperate for for company. Still, he knows where they’re coming from. With any luck, he and Lalna won’t find a body to report or bury; he has a feeling that Lalna’s been through enough already without adding to it.

Rythian and Lalna pause at the edge of the grounds where the first camera’s supposed to be hidden. Lalna nearly collides with him, mumbling ‘sorry’ as he backs off.

They’re not too far away from Liar’s Berg, having detoured to a cove that doubled as a former bandit hideout. These days, it’s just the ice and a couple of creatures who’ve made their home in the ramshackle buildings and half sunken ships forever moored in the cove. Rakks flap above them, enduring the way the wind tries to upset their flights by abruptly changing direction and speed.

Fragments of broken ice bob in and out of the water as the currents clacks them against the shore. The air’s chillier and saltier in this part of the Southern Shelf, blown back from the sea by the hollowed out cliffs closing in on the cove. He doubts that anybody who falls can climb back up, the rocks permanently slicked with a combination of ice, moss, sea water and rakk droppings.

Annoyed that Lalna’s been distracting him with his downer of an attitude, Rythian moves to consult the disaster of a map. The camera can’t be too far from where they are, based off the coordinates penciled in someone’s tiny, cursive writing. It’s readable, at least.

Reading the map’s impossible when it’s a devilish flap of recycled paper determined to stick to his face and chest, afraid of the wind and cold. Cursing why people still made maps out of paper, Rythian flattens it out on the ground. It’s anchored in place with a few choice rocks volunteering for the job, assisted by his chapped hands.

According to the disaster of a map trapped under him, the camera’s behind a bunch of rocks, protected by its makeshift housing. To his growing annoyance,  _ which  _ rocks aren’t specified.

“Lalna?” Rythian’s breathing causes puffs of white to form outside of his scarf. 

He hasn’t heard Lalna so much as move for the past five minutes. The map despawns when he touches a bent corner, wondering if Lalna’s wandered off and is in dire trouble. Fearing the worst, he begins to straighten up.

In his peripheral vision, grey blurs towards him. A tool with two crackling prongs slam into the left side of his head. The instant the prongs dig into his skin, his vision dies as the port’s overloaded. A glitched error message filling his HUD is the last sight he sees. Electricity courses into- no,  _ over _ him, swarming to pinch every nerve it can reach on the way down.

He’s losing the battle to stay upright, collapsing onto his hands (already on his knees).

Rythian clenches his teeth to avoid biting off his own tongue, fighting his own body for control. He can’t even scream. Limbs flail, randomly lashing out like he’s a puppet with its strings cut doing a dance to a song with no particular rhythm, beat or style. It stops when he’s about to tear muscle from the nonstop motions.

His body folds over, hitting the ice with a soft thump. The impact’s reduced thanks to his trusty coat. His scarf’s cushioned his head against the surface of the ice, sparing him a potential headache. 

Fingers twitch from the last of the electricity overloading his stressed, exhausted nerves. The rest of him’s in disarray, and he’s never felt this forcibly disconnected from his body before (except only once, and that’d been years ago).

Hurting all over, he tries to coax his limbs upwards. They slide out from under him like they’re made out of rubber, uselessly flopping this way and that. Trying again, he succeeds. His nails carve into the ice for purchase, stopping him from crashing down again. 

Braced on his shaking elbows (forgetting that he’s blindfolded by darkness), Rythian manages to lift his head to seek out Lalna, to warn him that there’s a threat.

It doesn’t occur to him that Lalna  _ is  _ the threat, not until Lalna’s mechanical hand wraps around his neck. He stiffens. His other senses are lag behind because of the residues of pain dogging his body. Freezing, searching fingers push aside the numerous folds of his scarf.

Rythian tries to speak. Silenced by the hand (that could crush in a heartbeat) on his throat, what comes out is a feeble, garbled, “Hnrk.” 

His jaw’s still locked into place, stuck teeth gnashing up against one another. Fortunately, he hadn't bitten his own tongue off (always a nastier way to die, especially at the end of a shock weapon).

Before he can teleport to safety, he chokes when Lalna’s hand closes on the leather cord, tugging up on it like it’s attached to a collar around his neck. Rythian had never bothered to tighten the cord, not since buggering off into the wilderness all on his own. That one mistake on his part is coming back to bite him, hard.

The cord digs into his windpipe as Lalna tries to get it up and over his head. The strap and knot’s all snagged up in the folds of his scarf. Taking advantage of the difficulty Lalna’s having, Rythian leans sideways, putting all of his weight on the strap. Sensation’s beginning to return to his numbing body, one delayed centimetre at a time. 

In a few minutes, he’ll figure out what’s really going on. First, he’ll have to kick Lalna’s ass and get answers, provided it’s Lalna who’s responsible for downing him.

This isn’t Lalna. This isn’t Lalna, and that’s what worries (and angers) him, next to losing the trinket and what’s hidden in it. All Rythian has to do is play for time, even as the realisation that Lalna’s betraying him is still taking its awful time to sink in.

There’s a third factor to complicate the situation further.

He’s fighting time, Lalna  _ and  _ the terror that he’s not quite alone in his own head (or body, it’s hard to tell). Awakened by and feasting on his fear, whatever it is, it’s now insisting on dunking both him and Lalna beneath the layers of ice. Whether or not it wants to help or kill him is impossible to discern. It poses the logical and instinctive argument that he’s in danger, and danger must be eliminated.

Lalna equals danger. Therefore: kill Lalna.

He’s too distracted suppressing the urge to give into that murderous temptation to notice what’s happening outside of his head, his attention split three ways in a vicious tug of war.

A hand fumbles past his coat. It finds the handle of the combat knife nestled against his hip, fingers wrapping around it. The blade whispers as it’s tugged out of its sheath, the drag of metal dragging his attention back to reality. That knife’s  _ his,  _ it’d been a gift from Teep, nobody else has the right to use _ ,  _ let alone  _ touch  _ it _. _

Rythian’s own hand thumps uselessly against his thigh, trying to snatch at any bit of Lalna he reach. Smartly, Lalna steps away, still hanging onto the cord. All Rythian has to go on is his sense of touch and hearing. Even those are failing him, thanks to the pushy interference from inside his own head.

His mind empties, becoming a roaring blank. It’s trying to divorce itself from the situation in an attempt to spare him, backed into a corner. There’s no way that this could possibly be  _ happening _ . It is, and Rythian refuses to return to a blank when he returns to this exact moment. 

A tooth nicks the inside of his cheek, the pain returning him to where he wants to be.

He tastes blood, rich with the tang of iron and filling the inside of his mouth as it pools under his tongue, a vivid, visceral warmth that serves as its own shock.

The cord sways back and forth, chafing against the bare lines of his throat from the rough, crude motions. Lalna’s sawing away at the flaking leather with Rythian’s own knife, adding insult to injury. 

The edge of the knife moves with a desperation where Lalna  _ knows  _ that he’s just crossed a line that he never should have and is determined to see it through to the end.

He  _ intended _ it.

In the moment following that eye-opening thought, Rythian’s not angry anymore: he’s  _ furious. _

“Lalna.” There, his mouth’s working again, albeit his voice’s rendered a harsh, disappointed whisper. He says Lalna’s name like it might be a curse unto itself.

“Rythian, I’m sorry,” whispers Lalna’s broken voice as though he too, can’t believe that this is happening. 

Something wet touches the back of Rythian’s wrist, which Rythian mistakes as a bit of stray snow. 

He doesn’t even  _ want _ Lalna to say his name; that privilege’s been revoked as of that fucking second. Rythian would have given almost anything to hear Lalna call him a  _ bandit  _ instead. Anything’s better than his own name being said by this traitorous sod.

As his hands stops twitching madly, Rythian can feel the exact moment the trinket’s torn free, cord and all. A hard shove to his chest sends him sprawling sideways on the ice. 

He’s just been  _ discarded _ by Lalna like he’s some sort of disposable artefact after fulfilling his true purpose. The knife Lalna stole is dropped onto the ice, the handle and blade clanging against the rocks.

For a second, he visualises his own hands coming up to latch onto Lalna’s wrists, holding him back so they can talk about this (because it’s either that or end up killing Lalna with his bare hands; crude but effective, as Teep’s proven a hundred times). In reality, his hands scrabble against the snow and ice so he can sit up again.

He swings his head in Lalna’s direction, homing in on the other’s retreating feet scuffing across the hardened ground. 

Lalna’s cautiously backing away, eventually breaking into a dead run back across the frozen lake (which they’d walked over together; earlier, he’d even asked Lalna how he’d been feeling today, the answer to which is apparently ‘backstabby’).

Fury needs nothing else for him to find the rest of his voice.

“ _ Lalna! _ ” Rythian’s anguished scream tears itself free from his throat, lobbed after Lalna like it’ll follow Lalna until the end of time. He doubts that either of them will forget this momentous betrayal so soon, because  _ he won’t _ .

Lalna doesn’t bother responding, likely halfway to Liar’s Berg by now.

Knowing that it’s useless to waste his voice, Rythian drops his head to his hands. His fingers curl against his palms, nails cutting into his palms. The cold’s reached his bones, after seeping through his skin and clothes. It does nothing to numb his inner rage or dull all the hurt.

Internalising it, pushing it all the way to the back of his throat grants him a vision of Lalna’s back. 

Before him, he can practically see Lalna tripping over his own two feet, his neon-laced boots sliding on the ice and snow for traction as he abandons him to the mercy of the Southern Shelf. There’s Lalna sprinting up the slope to the ghost town, panting, with the trinket clutched in hand, sweat pouring down his face, Lalna accessing the Fast Travel, Lalna vanishing in a harmless explosion of blue light and pixels- the sight makes him want to actually vomit.

It swirls before his eyes, pooling in his gut to settle there like its own dead weight. He  _ wants _ to hurt someone, feel their face break under his knuckles, for the satisfying splatter of fresh blood being shed, perhaps get a hand right behind their ribs and  _ yank  _ so that their insides are dragged out in an agonising, messy heap.

If this is how Ravs feels when he slips into that ‘moment’ of his where nothing but hurt and being hurt is all that there is, Rythian doesn’t blame him for succumbing to it of his own free will. Pain doesn’t matter in that nothing else can possibly hurt as much as  _ this _ does.

With Lalna gone and his rage swirling inside of him with no target to flay, a new challenger arrives. Panic joins the internal war Rythian’s waging. The panic’s synonymous with his heartbeat, almost displacing the rage entirely. It squashes his lungs against his ribs, taking his heart with it and choking every bit of rationality that’s managed to cling on.

Bit by bit, he backs off, away from the frightening thoughts taking up his whole mind.

It’s not like him to despise someone to the point of wanting to rip out their throat in front of their beloved ones- is it him or the presence (the presence that’s also him) talking? 

No, no, he doesn’t want Lalna  _ dead,  _ he just wants Lalna to know how he  _ feels _ , having his whole world tipped upside-down with no way to right it. Forget about it being tipped upside-down, how about thrown onto the floor, trodden on and smashed into a million smithereens?

His heart had better not be fucking up after being subjected to that treatment with the homemade taser?

There’s also no way to recover from this if he stays here. Being this pissed off is good and all but it doesn’t serve him any real purpose.

He’s wasting precious time that he could be spending thinking up of a way out of this. Alright, deep breaths. In and out. Hold for three, then release for as long as it takes his lungs to empty out, to abate the panic and the other shit. All panic’s temporary, merely a hypothetical alarm bell that flags almost anything as a danger. Think of all the times where he hadn’t been hurt.

His head clears. His mind’s no longer racing, allowing him to regain control. The panic’s not quite gone, retreating to the background. All that’s left is rage, not as violent as it’d been five minutes ago, but cooled down for him to safely acknowledge it and use it.

Carefully, he begins to draw from his rage, like water from a well, using it as fuel to sustain him because the only other option is to give up, roll over and die out here like a fucking failure. While the past Rythian would have done that without hesitation, the current Rythian has a fucking problem with that.

_ Think, Rythian _ ,  _ think.  _ The way back to Liar’s Berg isn’t that tricky to find. He’ll get there, even if he navigates without his eyes and it takes him a whole month, and nearly kills himself in the process of trying. All he has to do is move.

It’s also only a matter of calling someone to let them know that he’s in trouble. At the moment, without his HUD, grabbing his ECHO device poses a minor difficulty. His hands can grip now, at least.

Ice crunches. Whatever’s approaching him possesses limbs dragging far too closely to one another to be human. Rythian traces the vibrations across the ground, working out that it must have spooked Lalna. The smell of damp fur tickles his nose, his scarf not quite filtering it out. 

A presence looms over him, blocking the wind with its immense frame. Before he can guess what it is, he’s yanked backwards and up, dangling upside down a second later by the ankle.

Blood rushes to his head, almost a fatal kick with how fast it makes him dizzy.

Hot breath smelling of meat left out for too long causes his stomach to clench in revulsion. Gagging, Rythian’s mind reels through the list of creatures that can be found in the region.

Rakks didn’t roam on the ground, not unless they knew whatever they’re scavenging for is near death or dead already. They'd have torn him apart by now. They’d stayed away despite his helplessness. Perhaps waiting.

That left bullymongs: territorial, unusually aggressive four-armed, hulking light blue skinned beasts, sporting a mohawk of coarse stained fur, with all four muscled arms being strong enough to hurl boulders across several hundred metres.

Shipwrecks told the tale of bullymong ambushes, though the creatures have never been seen swimming to claim the spoils.

They’ve been known to seize a lone bandit and tear them from limb to limb, or dig in while the bandit’s dying, their fangs crunching through solid bone to reach the marrow within. Eating someone alive appeared to fulfil whatever sick notion of entertainment the bullymongs possessed. Not even skags could reach that level of cruelty, even with a boosted intelligence.

Each of the adult sized bullymongs could easily reach two metres in height, if food’s plentiful. They roamed in groups. Where one bullymong roams, the others aren’t far away. He’s already surrounded as similar smells gather several metres away.

Just when things couldn’t get any worse, the universe had a way of proving that wrong.

Rythian teleports the dropped combat knife into his hand, thrusting it forwards (no time to think about how he’d just done that, conditioned to simply  _ act _ ).

The blade meets grubby fur and a wall of solid flesh, the hairy bristles absorbing the impact of his feeble stab. Since he’s still jittery from the electric shock, it has all the power of a fistful of damp sand behind it. It’s like attacking rock, and the rock could dismember him if it felt like it. Without wanting to, his weakened hand leaves the knife embedded in the bullymong’s side. 

When he tries to grab it again for round two, his groping palm accidentally knocks against the handle, causing it to lodge deeper.

The bullymong roars, sending a putrid gust of breath wafting over his face. It grunts decisively, hauling him up higher in its grip. His ankle’s ready to be separated from the rest of his leg with a single tug.

Dizzy to the point of passing out, Rythian feels his whole body moving through the air as the bullymong carries him off to the left. His whole world jolts as it ambles along the ice. He doesn’t like how it pauses. The hand around his ankle tightens, making him wince. It’s preparing to do something, lifting him higher.

The bullymong swings him downwards, all the air rushing past him a critical tipoff. At the last moment, he turns so that his back’s to the ground. With no time to brace himself for the impact, he’s smashed against the ice. Not even a second passses before he’s being dragged across it by the hand hanging onto his ankle.

Rythian can’t help the startled, pained sound that leaves him, as the jagged rocks underneath him punch right through his coat and shirt. It slices open his back, rending apart skin and flesh with all the finesse of a newly sharpened scalpel. His coat’s meant to survive light impacts and weather, not ones intended to pulverise bones and tenderize muscle.

He can feel his blood coating the rocks, leaving his back and spreading outwards. Pain’s an old, familiar shock to his system, already brutalising what’s already been damaged.

The bullymong grunts, clearly sounding pleased at wounding him. It’s surprised that he’s still alive, preparing to slam him into the ground again. Rythian can hear the other bullymongs shuffle back, clearly allowing the dominant bullymong first pickings of his to-be corpse.

If he could just get a hold of his gun, he could- the bullymong throws him aside onto the ground. Despite his hurt back objecting to the harsh treatment, Rythian rolls onto his side, baffled by the switch of interest.

The bullymongs are growling. The rushing wind brings him bullymongs bellowing their guttural cries, thumping chests and ground, scraping rocks and stomping out a warning like ancient war drums. Whoever’s approaching wanted the bullymongs dead. Or, alternatively, they wanted Rythian dead. Or both.

The footsteps pause, whoever’s standing there regarding the scene with unnatural calm. Whoever they are, it’s clear that the bullymongs deem them to be a bigger threat than him.

Rythian can’t tell what noise is what when the wind shifts once the bullymongs charge. In the meantime, he tries to push himself up onto his hands and knees. Blood gushes out of his back. It doesn’t hurt as much as the taser. Pain is pain. So long as he’s not down for the count, he can get out of this.

At last, his elbows prop him up. Throughout it all, he’s holding back _whatever it is that’s trying to rise out of the depths of his mind and self at so much danger and blood_ _all around him_. 

He doesn’t  _ need  _ or  _ want  _ it.

Gunshot after gunshot fills the air, the ground shaking as bullymongs try to rip the newcomer apart. With every gunshot, Rythian suppresses the reflex to lie flat and put his hands over his head. It’ll be him next, he tells himself. Pain is inconsequential, simply a warning his body’s giving off to not overextend himself.

He’s not hurt that badly, it’s just a scratch, just like what happened in the desert. Without seeing his own blood, there’s no way to finally confirm his suspicions, matching it up with what he’d seen back on Elpis.

Five minutes later, he’s succeeded in fending ‘it’ off, reassuring it through its skepticism. It’s driven back to the recesses of his mind, not entirely gone but waiting. Whatever ‘it’ is had felt impossibly familiar, a bit like tracing along an old scar, rediscovering its prior history anew. Except, he hadn’t been aware of having said scar. It might even be responsible for his knack with teleporting.

Despite all his efforts, he’s still where he is, stuck in bullymong territory and without help. He’d lost a perfectly good knife too.

With a tentatively silent head, Rythian now can address his new problem: facing the figure who’s done slaughtering the bullymongs. He won’t move unless he has to, relying on the element of surprise. While they’ve done him a favor, what they’ll do to him will decide on how he reacts.

Footsteps, distinctly human this time, are treading with care over and around bodies, headed right for him. Compared to earlier, his gut remains calm, not a disturbed hive of emotion and activity.

“Did you come back to finish the job?” Rythian snidely says. Even knowing that it’s not Lalna, he can’t help but project the last of his anger just to continue dulling how much he’s hurting on the inside and outside.

Whoever this person is, their cool silence serves to infuriate him. He can feel someone blocking out the wind as they shift, crouching so that they’re in front of him. Oh  _ good _ , someone’s playing the aloof loner act.

Rythian makes sure that he’s wearing a defiant scowl on his face, ready to lunge at them if he has to. He might be as weak as a kitten right now but he’s not going to go without a fight.

The rough, worn fingertip of a glove sketches a single word on the back of his clenched hand: no.

“Teep?” Rythian breathes, unable to believe his luck. His anger’s replaced by relief, to the point that he nearly sags onto the ground. Flipping over his empty palm will help Teep out.

“Where’s Lalna?” The question is sketched out over Rythian’s upturned palm with quick and precise strokes.

If Rythian’s hands were bare, the motions would be ticklish. Alas, the bandages wrapped around his palm makes the motions fill him with a renewed burst of smouldering anger.

Without his HUD and his eyes, there’s no way to interpret Teep’s signing. They have to write out what they want to say on his hand, specifying letter by letter, an excruciating and time-consuming process to the both of them.

“Long gone.” He can feel Teep staring at him. He didn’t need to say it out loud, but it’s how he knows that it’s not a nightmare that he’s trapped in. “He stole it, Teep.” Shame motivates him to add, almost a sorry plea, “You might as well shoot me.”

Teep says nothing. Rythian hears Teep stepping away from him with a soft scraping of their boots. Something squelches; blood or viscera, maybe.

Maybe they’re leaving him to die. He wouldn’t blame them if they did so. It’s then that he remembers what they’d asked of him the first time they’d met. Now he knows how they must have felt.

Their step’s followed by rummaging. He concludes that Teep is going through their inventory. They return, approaching from his side this time, his left.

Dexterous fingers find his stinging back, laying out an item over the scratch inflicted there underneath his ripped shirt and coat. He hisses in pain as it settles there, the soft edges folding along the curving contours of his ravaged back. The same fingers pat down the sides, applying tape so that it’ll stay put.

A layer of thick cloth lands on him next, settling there. He starts, reaching out with a hand to grab hold of whatever it is. Well, it’s warm from Teep’s body heat, almost ridiculously so- it’s their hooded jacket.

He’d know those folds anywhere, so saturated with gunpowder and a sharp trace of the cleaning oil that Teep prefers to use on all their weapons. In his mind, he can visualize the dark green, fur-lined hooded jacket without needing to reactivate his eyes.

Hands haul him upwards by the upper arms. Swaying on the spot, Rythian panics, immediately reaching out for something, anything, to hold onto. The item along his back holds despite his struggle.

“Sorry!” His hand collides with Teep’s goggles, bumping against the lens. The only way he’d do that is if Teep’s crouching in front of him.

He directs his hand upwards. It might have touched hair. A few soft strands brush against his fingertips. Hastily, he stops, embarrassed that he might touch something he shouldn’t be (and a long time ago, he might have wanted to know what colour their hair is; it hasn’t quite hit him yet that he’s only just discovered that they have hair).

Fortunately, Teep deigns to help him out. Their hand leads his hand onto their shoulder, letting him know that hanging onto there’s fine. Latching onto it from fear of falling, Rythian wonders what Teep is up to. 

He keeps his mouth shut as he’s hefted onto a pair of bony shoulders. As his world dangerously tilts sideways, he connects it with how he must look from another perspective, figuring out that Teep’s carrying him firefighter style. He wriggles. 

This is humiliating, being carried around like a useless lump or a trussed up kill. Teep jostles him in warning, hitching him up so that he’s secure. He ceases, relaxing so they don’t drop him in annoyance.

The two of them must currently make a strange sight, making their way across the lake. As Rythian’s being carried, he takes a moment to reflect on their timely arrival and what it means.

They’re not leaving him. They’re not leaving him, and he can’t describe how glad he is to know that someone else still wants him around. He might not know why they went after him, but that’s irrelevant.

Anybody else would be taking the time to try to make him feel better. Teep lets him hurt, allowing him time to process and compartmentalise his thoughts and feelings.

Lalna’s betrayed him, leaving him for dead. That’s almost as good as killing him outright. The trinket’s missing. What would drive Lalna to do this? Those three questions are what Rythian’s struggling to answer. He can’t help but feel that it’s all his fault somehow. 

Almost like Teep’s reading his thoughts, they pat the side of his leg.

Well, maybe the pat had been to tell him that they’re jumping over a gap in the ice and not to panic at the temporary loss of solid ground. If Rythian had been left on his own, he’d have gotten lost at this point, possibly fallen in and met his end (without resisting, at that).

It’s impossible to tell how much time’s passed, up until Teep halts. They drop into a crouch. Another pat lets him know that they want him off their shoulders. Teep must be wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath their jacket; he can’t feel a single inch of exposed skin against his.

By now, he’s regained enough strength to stand on his own two feet. He thinks he’s fine as his boots hit the ground- until he falls down again, into a crouch this time. At least it hadn’t been a faceplant.

Almost within arm’s reach, Teep’s tugging on another jacket. He guiltily moves to take off the one they’ve given him, remembering their intense dislike of the cold in any of its forms, whether it’s rain, snow or whenever Zoeya turned down the thermostat.

Teep grabs his hand, sketching out in shorthand, “Keep it on so your back’s covered.” They let go to finish getting dressed.

“Oh.” He hadn’t exactly forgotten about his back (not the bit that’s hurting him right now), per se. It’s just that it’d been a long time since he’d thought about what lay there. Shivering, he runs a hand over his face. It’s not anything that a jacket (even if it’s the best of the best) would have helped with.

Teep taps his hand, conveying a simple instruction that consists of, “Hold still.”

A moment later, their hands reach over, one sliding underneath Rythian’s chin. Long, slim fingers grip his chin firmly, effectively shutting him up. From the way the air moves in front of his face, Rythian suspects it’s a gun or an item that Teep’s digistructed. He doesn’t dare move.

Unsure of what to expect, he closes his eyes. A darker blackness meets him. It wouldn’t have changed anything, given that he’s blind even with his eyes wide open. How could he have been so  _ blind  _ to Lalna’s betrayal? In retrospect, he shouldn’t have accepted the mission. Lalna’s odd behavior’s adding up.

The item Teep’s holding touches against his forehead where the port linked to his eyes lie. Rythian flinches as the calibration tool works its magic, the awakening jolt of electricity crackling against the metal implanted in his head. It’s nothing more than the kind of shock he got from an accidental discharge of static electricity. The lengthy gaps between calibrations means that he reacts like he’s never experienced it before.

There, his HUD’s booting back up, along with his vision. One by one, all the functions fuzzily reappear with flickers and bursts of disorientating color. The world blurs, returning once his focus adjusts itself. It’s too bright out, causing him to squint until his eyes finish the rest of its automatic calibrations.

Teep lets go of him, dropping the tool into their inventory. He almost asks who the tool belongs to (and he realises how little he knows about them, in comparison to Ravs).

They sign, “Lalna’s footprints.” A nod indicates the two sets of identical tracks traveling up and down the slope, under the metal gate at Liar’s Berg lone entrance and exit.

Rythian’s eyes roam over the permanently open, rusting corrugated metal gate, finding what they’re referring to in less than a second. There’s Lalna’s footprints, spaced out like he’d sprinted the whole way back. The footprints lead back to the Fast Travel Station beside him and Teep.

“I need to find him.” He despises how  _ weak _ he sounds.

Finding his drive to go after him, is a massive struggle, and it’s one that he finds humiliating to have one of his best friends bear witness to. For crying out loud, he’d put more effort into  _ pointless wandering  _ than this. It’s even more humiliating since said friend sacrificed their jacket to keep him warm, and carried him a fair ways back to civilisation.

Again, Teep does nothing to comfort him. He knows that they won’t betray him. Yet, the persistent fear gnaws at his trust of them, in the background of his consciousness.

“Second time I’ve carried you like this,” They sign with a shake of their head. The signed sentence sounds nostalgic, in Rythian’s head.

“I didn’t want to be carried the other time either,” Rythian retorts, more surprised that they’d dare to reference it. “Thanks, by the way,” He adds in a gentler tone. There’s no point to wearing a shredded coat if the wind bypasses it, so he takes it and Teep’s borrowed one off, replacing the latter once the other’s stored in his inventory.

They hand over his stained combat knife, which he immediately restores to its sheath. He’ll clean it, once he finds a spare moment (not wanting to confront yet what the knife had been last used for).

“You’re welcome,” Teep simply responds, and they leave it at that.

Barely ten seconds later, he and Teep are digistructing in Sanctuary Hole.

The last of the sunset is petering out over the horizon, the mountains blocking the remaining rays of sun that the storm clouds fail to blot out. It’ll be a hell of a storm once it’s done deciding when to start the show. He hopes that it won’t be when he’s midway across the town.

Despite the blood loss not getting to him yet, Teep manhandles him into another fireman’s carry, all the way over to the Crooked Caber. Rythian lets them, willingly suffering another blow to his injured pride. It’s about time he accepts help; no more of this lone wolf bullshit. Then again, look at where teaming up with others got him?

No citizens are out. This is the time where people chose to nap before emerging to the first or second half of Pandora’s cooler and more tolerable twilight hours. Appropriately, Ravs held happy hour then.

Teep avoids the front door, going around to the back one instead. There, they fiddle with the lock. The lock unclicks after a moment of busy tampering; Rythian doesn’t see how Teep’s done it, understanding that Teep wants to avoid drawing attention.

With the door swinging open, Teep allows Rythian back onto his feet. He leans against Teep for support, still feeling wobbly in the legs thanks to the Fast Travel. At least his hands can grip Teep without flailing randomly and possibly hitting them in the face. Teep would probably break the offending arms  _ and  _ fingers if that happened.

The back door leads into Ravs’ darkened kitchen. Rythian’s eyes water when the lone, dangling light bulb illuminates. A sighing Ravs is standing vigil at the opposite end of the kitchen. Teep must use this entrance a fair bit for Ravs to anticipate their sneaking in. The hunch is that Teep must attend happy hour regularly. While not an alcoholic like other people, Teep tolerated the company that came with drinking.

“Teep, I’ve told you a hundred times, use the front door-” Ravs stops once he takes in Rythian’s condition, frowning as he strides over. He forgets about lecturing Teep. “Rythian, what’s wrong? Why’re you leaning on Teep like that?”

“Lalna stole it,” Teep reports. “And your locks suck.”

Ravs opens his mouth. He closes it, only to stare at Rythian, gaze questioning if it’s true. If he didn’t worry about offending Teep, he would have said that the translation program’s fucking up.

“It’s true,” Rythian finds himself saying with far too much calm than he thinks possible.

“No, no, Lalna wouldn’t.” Ravs laughs. It’s an uncertain laugh, containing the silent, steady destruction of whatever trust Ravs had built up of Lalna. The laughter dies at the pain crossing over Rythian’s face, like Rythian’s just ripped off a newly formed scab. “Well,  _ shit.  _ He doesn’t know how important that little trinket is to you, so maybe he just made a mistake-” And because it’s  _ Ravs,  _ he still tries to believe otherwise, to cling to that scrap of hope.

For a reason that Rythian doesn’t want to figure out, he snaps at Ravs, “He didn’t, and I have to find him before he can figure out how to open it!” He instantly feels guilty when Ravs steps back, looking hurt from the directed ferocity in Rythian’s tone.

Teep’s elbow digs into his ribs, hard. Wincing (since their elbows are about as bony as the rest of them), Rythian glares at them, only to watch them nod at the doorway. A familiar head of red hair bobs behind the door.

“Teep, I’m not apologi- Zoeya, why are you hiding over there?”

“Um!” Zoeya’s small, startled voice floats over Ravs’ shoulder. As one, the three of them stare at Zoeya. Caught, she leaves her cover in the doorway behind Ravs, her hands awkwardly fiddling with one another. “I didn’t mean to overhear, but you were all shouting, or at least, Ravs and Rythian were…” She trails off, dipping her head as her face glows. “I’ll just shut up and go back out front, my lips are sealed.”

“It’s too late now. You might as well stay.” Ravs rubs the back of his head, glancing at Rythian. The hurt that’d flickered over his face’s replaced by sheepishness at leaving the door open.

“But this is clearly personal and none of my business,” Zoeya tries to dissuade, clearly torn between staying or leaving.

“It’s up to Rythian.”

“No, she deserves to know,” Rythian decides. “I owe her one.” More like five. “Teep, would you please help me over to a chair?” His back’s not going to last much longer standing up, and he can feel Teep bristling with impatience through their jacket.

With a bit of clever manoeuvring around the table, Teep assists Rythian over to a kitchen chair. When he basically collapses onto it, their jacket nearly slips off his shoulders. He tugs it tighter around him. 

It’s gross but blood’s seeping out from the bandage (well, it doesn’t feel like a bandage, all swollen and beginning to sag downwards) into his torn shirt and the back of his pants. Belatedly, he hopes that Teep’s jacket is bloodproof. It probably is, for all the times they’d ever gotten all sorts of of dubious matter on it.

Zoeya awkwardly remains close by the doorway. When Rythian plainly gestures that it’s okay to come closer, she swallows, daring to ask, “What did Lalna steal?”

“Something very important and very dangerous.” Rythian reaches for where the trinket would be to show her, his hand finding thin air. Sighing at his muscle memory, he rubs at the bridge of his nose instead. “A Vault Key.”

“Wait, the Vaults are real?” She doesn’t sound that surprised, merely matter-of-fact.

“...Yes.” He gives her a searching look. Other people are quicker to believe that he’s gone nuts from heatstroke or dehydration whenever he so much as explained all the evidence for why the Vaults are real (or how they came to be, really).

“Oh! Well, I kind of suspected they were.” Zoeya flaps a hand at Rythian, giving a tiny, sheepish laugh. “You seemed to be so sure they were so I never argued with you.”

As a fellow researcher, Zoeya had taken Rythian seriously, more so than other people did whenever he hit his stride in talking about the Vaults, or whatever pieces he could recall without divulging anything particularly important. He automatically feels guilty for every single time he’s ever well, been mean to her for following her own research with a passion that he’s admittedly, jealous of, what with his own being beyond revival.

He didn’t want to expose what he knows like this. There’s no way around it though, if he wants Zoeya to understand the gravity of the situation. 

Deep breaths means that he won’t stutter or stumble, as the memories get disturbed when he skates over them in a minimal recall. The jacket he’s borrowing will hide the shivers.

How can he explain how badly he fucked up? He doubts that in the history of all the fuckups on Pandora, none will ever come close to the one he committed years ago.

If he can’t explain, he’ll have to show her.

Rythian begins In a low, soft voice, the one he reserves for making people really sit up and pay attention, “The last time I opened a Vault, terrible...things happened. And not just to me and Teep.”

“Hold the flippy flop up, what’s Teep got to do with this?” Okay,  _ now _ she’s surprised.

Rythian pauses to consider if he’d really just heard her say ‘hold the flippy flop up’. That’s not important, nor can he afford to get distracted. “We’re sorry for lying, but Teep and I go way back. We were Vault Hunters together.” So that Ravs doesn’t feel left out, Rythian belatedly adds, “Along with Ravs.”

“We three have known each other for nearly a Pandoran year now,” Ravs also admits with an apologetic nod. “It wasn’t easy pretending not to know Teep or Rythian whenever people dropped by asking about them.”

“If you’re worried about me getting mad, I've, um, known for a long time.” Zoeya laughs again (her laugh more sure than before), going redder than when Rythian had seen Saberial kissing her in front of him and Panda. “It’s pretty obvious. I just didn’t think you went that far back. You probably had your reasons.” She knowingly glances at Teep. To Rythian, Teep shrugs like they have no idea what she’s referencing. Quietly, she asks, “What happened to you, in the Vault?”

Teep and Rythian glance at each other. Teep’s since moved to stand next to Ravs, their gaze fixated on Rythian.

“Teep? If you wouldn’t mind showing her?” Rythian pauses to figure out if they’re willing. Out of everyone currently standing in the room, Zoeya’s never seen the damage to Teep’s face. He doubts that she’s even glimpsed it. “You don’t have to, if it’s too much-”

Wordlessly, Teep raises a hand to push up their goggles (keeping their eyes closed, all the shadows hiding what could be hidden, save for what Rythian’s referring to). Zoeya inhales sharply at what’s underneath. Ravs sighs.

Five seconds later, Teep tugs the goggles back down into their proper place, crossing their arms over their chest. They stare right back at Rythian.

It’s his turn.

Rythian shrugs off the borrowed jacket, tossing it back to Teep with a murmured thanks. His scarf’s tucked into his inventory. Ravs leans over to steady him as he shakily rises to his feet. Grateful for the support, Rythian reaches down, tugging his shirt up.

It hurts taking his shirt off because the new wound throbs as the muscles around it clench. He stretches and relaxes, in order to get the shirt off and over his head. He turns his back on her, dreading her reaction as the seconds begin to stack.

“Rythian, your  _ back _ ,” Zoeya whispers, her tone devoid of any horror or shock.

Staring out of Rythian’s back are the impressions of two unblinking, enormous blank eyes burned into his blistered flesh. It stretches from shoulder to shoulder across his upper back.

Such is the scarring that the bony protrusions of his spine are hidden underneath them. The skin is half melted, the botched healing leaving the scarred folds messily fused with all the normal, browned skin surrounding it like a border.

Almost all of the mutilated folds glow pale purple from within, bringing to mind rich eridium deposits found in empty gullies. The two circles that form the pupils are a darker shade of purple than the skin around it. All of it’s blackened like charred flesh left to fester, ruining any hope of restoring the warped skin.

The wound from the bullymong is weakly dripping blood, soaking the waistline of his pants. The deep scratches sits midway up his back, two hands down from the older scarring. If it’d been any higher, there’s no telling what would have happened to the already damaged skin.

“This is what happened to us in the Vault.” Rythian closes his eyes, feeling the air raise goosebumps on his arms and whatever’s left of his back. 

In the background, peals of thunder echo through the Three Horns mountain range, muffled by the protective walls of the bar. Nobody moves, all eyes in the room on his back.

There’s no point in putting his wrecked shirt back on. The fabric’s shoved against his back to mop up the mess before it can sully Ravs’ clean wooden floor. The bandage Teep applied before is fully soaked. It’s a sticky presence on his back, a thick, sagging lump pressing against his spine.

Zoeya’s by him before he can move away. Her hand finds his other arm, her palm wrapping around his bandaged elbow. “I’m so sorry,” is her pained whisper (to the both of them). Her expression matches Ravs’ stricken one.

“Please don’t cry. It doesn’t hurt much.” He can barely meet her watering eyes, embarrassed that he’d driven her to tears.

From the front of the bar, someone impatiently calls for Ravs. Ignoring the summons, Ravs tugs a baby blue, woollen blanket (pulled from somewhere) over Rythian’s bare shoulders. Zoeya takes a worn end, helping draw it over Rythian’s back with a tenderness that he’s seen strictly reserved for Saberial and playing skag pups.

In all the times Rythian had ever taken blows to his back from tangling with animals, he’d never once complained about it.

Almost as if he's reading her mind, Rythian looks at her to shake his head, his exhausted gaze saying ‘later’. He would have said it too, if not for another interrupted.

Zylus breezes in through the doorway, holding an empty mug. “Ravs, I’ve been calling for a refill for the past bloody minute-” He stops being annoyed when everyone in the room stares at him. Sheepish, Zylus blinks. The mug in his hand vanishes. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No, nothing,” Rythian promptly says after an awkward beat.

“Why can I smell blood?” Zylus wrinkles his nose, his cheeks going pink from the intensity of Teep’s stare. “And where’s Lalna?” That’s the wrong question to ask; Rythian flinches, almost shrugging the blanket off if it hadn’t been for Zoeya still hanging onto a corner. The reaction earns an inquisitive look.

Teep glances from Rythian to Zylus, signing with more care than they usually did, “Ask him about Lalna and the mining rig.”

That might provide a clue. Rythian peers at Zylus, forcing himself to sound perfectly collected and rational (because when he wants to say Lalna’s name, he wants to spit it out instead). “Zylus, did anything happen up at the rig when you took Lalna there?”

The pink takes a few seconds to leave Zylus’ face. “I wasn’t there with him when he actually went into the SipsCo. rig. He came out looking pretty shaken.” He glances at the ground, frowning as he tries to remember anything else worth mentioning. It looks like he raises an eyebrow instead, his frown hampered by the monocle he’s wearing.

Rythian frowns as well, though not at what he’s saying. Of the two metal bars marking a former Dahl connection, one is missing from Zylus’ forehead. Had that patch of skin above his left eyebrow always been that scarred? Last time he’d met him in person, there’d been two silver bars.

“Wait, that company name sounds super familiar,” Ravs says, rubbing his stubbled chin in apparent thought. His face lights up. “Hold on.” He strides out of the room, returning with a disgruntled person a few minutes later.

Daltos catches sight of Rythian. Both their expressions darken to scowls. Of course, he goes wherever Zylus goes. He remains in the doorway, his arms crossing over his chest. “You never told me you knew each other,” He lightly says to Ravs.

Rythian bites back a scathing ‘I could say the same’, sensing that it would be exactly the kind of wrong thing to say if he wants to deliberately ruin what Ravs is doing.

“Well, that saves me from having to do introductions,” Ravs says to him, giving him an expectant smile. Less optimistically, he says, “We need to know something. You might be able to help.”

“The only way you’re getting any help from me is if Rythian and the other three Vault Hunters go fuck themselves first,” Daltos snaps, making Zoeya flinch at how blunt his hostility is. She hastily fans ‘stop, it’s fine’ at Teep when they take a protective step forward at her reaction.

“Daltos,” Zylus warns in a matching tone.

Daltos glares at him. Zylus meets that glare with an unreadable look. Daltos turns his gaze onto Rythian a moment later. Eyebrows rise at Rythian’s condition. “What’d he take?” He smirks, knowing that’s just gained an advantage of his own.

Zoeya, Zylus, Rythian, Teep and Ravs all share a look amongst themselves. If they share what Lalna took, will it convince Daltos, or will it do the exact opposite and give him information that he can use as blackmail material? There’s no way to tell if he’s still in contact with SipsCo., not without elaborating.

Out of the blue, Zoeya takes the initiative to bravely coax, “Lalna took something of Rythian’s that’s mega important, so please help him get it back.” Her voice shakes the tiniest bit as she addresses him, her hand still clutching the blanket around Rythian’s shoulders. 

Rythian reaches up to pat her hand, thanking her for her initiative. She didn’t have to do that. Her hand tenderly squeezes his shoulder.

Daltos’ glare softens; perhaps he’d been expecting a demand rather than a request. He looks like he certainly hadn’t been expecting it from Zoeya of all people, his tone sounding the tiniest bit curious. “How important is it?”

“Um.” Zoeya flails, waving her hands and giving a nervous albeit imploring look. “Like, ’could possibly end the world’ kind of important,” She lamely summarises.

“Is that so?” The drawling, smug way Daltos mulls over the words, plus Zylus’ chagrined expression tells Rythian that it’ll take a little more convincing than that, even if it’s Zoeya doing the asking.

Half a step allows Ravs to lean in, getting Daltos’ attention by nudging him in the small of his back. Glaring at him, Daltos steps forward, neatly avoiding the action. Smiling, Ravs indicates that the two of them should talk, perhaps privately. The two leave the circle, moving to the other side of the room.

Rythian watches Ravs murmur words that he can’t understand. Whatever it is, it makes the glare on Daltos’ face go away, replaced by disbelief and interest. Whether it’s the good or bad kind of interest, he can’t tell.

Smirking, Daltos says something that has Ravs chuckling. Rythian doesn’t know how to feel about seeing the two at ease.

Zoeya sidles closer, the floorboards creaking underneath her. “Rythian,” She whispers, with an odd sort of smile on her face. “Here, until you can see Lalnable.” He spots the sterile, still packaged item she’s holding out. It’s a shade of nondescript, eye pleasing blue. “Teep uses these all the time for bites and things, they’re really good.”

> Lies, I do not.

> I ran out of bandages and had to do some improvising back at the Southern Shelf.

“Zoeya, this is a tampon,” He observes, giving her a dry look. These might even belong to the same lot he’d given her a few days ago.

“It’s exactly like the one on your back!” She hotly points out, thinking that he’s objecting to her help.

“Oh.” Rythian turns his gaze to Teep, who shrugs. Zylus has gone red again upon spotting what she’s offering.

“It worked pretty well, didn’t it?” They respond.

“You know what, it’ll do,” Rythian says, not wanting to start an argument about the merits of using a tampon in lieu of a proper bandage. It’s sterile, clearly absorbed blood and didn’t leak. That’s good enough for him.

He can’t reach his own back to apply it, settling back down on the kitchen chair. Wanting to avoid a potential scene, he keeps his back turned away from Zylus and Daltos. 

The blanket Ravs lent him is hitched up to expose the scratch, the edge revealing nothing more than that. Zoeya crouches by him. Her warm, almost smooth hands ghost over his back, removing the blood laden bandage- tampon there. It’s peeled off, Zoeya taking care not to cruelly yank it away and cause him undue pain.

A moment later, her hands leave his back. What she’s removed is handed to him.

“Thank you,” He says to her, grateful for her thoughtfulness and more importantly, her discretion. A glance at the ruined tampon confirms that his blood is still red. Good. He tosses it into a plastic bag pulled from his inventory, marking it as trash for later disposal.

She frowns, picking up his torn shirt to play with the hem. “You could have talked to me.”

“Please don’t lecture me, I do that all the time to myself,” He tiredly says, recognising the spark in her eyes for what’s coming next. Or not.

“I wasn’t going to!” She makes a breathy, frustrated sound, her features softening. “All I want to say is, I’m your friend too, you know.”

Rythian can’t respond to that. He really had forgotten that she’s his friend too, even if she constantly drove him up the wall and over the ceiling. She’s the one he goes to when he’s had enough of Teep and Ravs.

He’s an idiot.

“I’m sorry. I-” That earns a gentle punch to the arm from her as she sheepishly grins.

“You forgot, didn't you?” Zoeya makes a soft sound that serves as her chuckle. “When you left me, Ravs, Nilesy, Zylus and everyone to go disappear a few years back into the wild. If I’d known you knew Teep, I’d have gotten Teep to try finding you, because Teep is really good at tracking things, you know.”

There’s no explaining away that stunt of his. Knowing that the two would try to call him, he’d deliberately removed the battery from his ECHO device until he’d gone off the grid. 

Teep hadn’t really put any effort into finding him, understanding his need to vanish. Zoeya and Ravs don’t. He doesn’t hate them for that, or for worrying.

“I know, I know. I just.” Rythian waves a hand, unable to explain his reasoning at the time. It’d felt like the only natural course of action after what he’d done. 

While Teep hadn’t demonstrated any obvious signs of wanting to put a bullet in his skull, he’d somehow gotten it into his head that they had. He’d deserved it then, and still does, even now.

“You don’t need to apologise because you’re back now, so it’s okay!” Clearly, this had been on her mind for a long time. There’s the feeling that she’d have said this to him once they’d reunited in the Caustic Caverns if it hadn’t been for the other three Vault Hunters present.

“I actually don’t know if I’m going to be okay.” 

Saying the words out loud feels like he’s admitting defeat, not only to himself but to a part of him that’d been bent on keeping it hidden, going on without anybody to guide or advise him. He’d walked along that particular road for so long that taking any other path is out of the question.

“That’s okay too,” Zoeya simply says. Zoeya leans over, her arms hovering around his frame. If he’d been standing, the top of her head would have reached his chest. When he’s sitting, they’re almost at eye level, and at perfect hug height.

She’s not springing a hug on him, not without his permission when before, she’d have done so without hesitation. It would have bothered him a long time ago that she’s treating him like a fragile object. This is her way of showing that she cares.

“Yeah, I could use a hug,” He admits, unable to stop himself starting as she draws him in, closer to her. 

She faintly smells of freshly turned over dirt and cut grass, an outdoorsy scent. It’s no bouquet but he’ll take it, vaguely recalling that smell as belonging to ‘skag tracking duty’. The hug’s like one of Ravs’, except she’s a softer presence rather than a solid one. She also doesn’t exactly try to crush him against her, letting his head rest on her shoulder.

“You’re supposed to relax when you hug someone, Rythian, not tense up,” She points out in an amused tone.

> He’s trying not to touch your boobs by accident.

> Literally tits or gtfo.

“Teep, go away,” Rythian says without turning around.

> I want a hug too.

Raising his eyebrows, Rythian turns to see Zylus (who’s failing to hide an entertained grin behind his hand) and Teep watching the tender moment. 

“Are you joking?” Rythian flatly asks Teep. Hugs and Teep went as well together as marshmallows and homemade flamethrowers did.

“You don’t need a hug, you need to stop being an asshole,” Zylus mutters. Teep swiftly jabs Zylus in the forehead with a forefinger. “Ow!”

“That wasn’t even at my full strength,” Teep signs. Zylus rubs at his forehead, wincing still.

“Zoeya, you can stop hugging me now.” As nice as it is, Rythian’s 99% positive that hugs have to end at some point. He gives her an appreciative pat on the arm to indicate as much.

“No, no, the optimal hug is a minute! We’re only thirty seconds in, so we got to make it last.” Her arms continue to encase him.

Well, he can’t fault her for wanting to see it through, comforting him. If this is how safe Saberial feels in her arms, he doesn’t blame her for wanting cuddles all the time with her girlfriend. Cuddles are nice, actually, in general.

Glancing over and seeing that Ravs is occupied with talking to Daltos still, Teep raises a hand. Knowing that they’re about to type or sign something incredibly rude, Rythian points a finger at them in warning. Teep steps behind Zylus, causing Zylus to start when Rythian flicks his hand.

“Rythian, no-” He shouts right as he’s teleported to the front of the bar. Zoeya muffles her startled laugh with a hand, shoving Rythian in the shoulder.

“Whoops,” Rythian mutters, eyeing Teep. That’d been far too deliberate to be an accident.

Teep smugly signs at him, “Nice try.”

“As much as I’d like you to teleport Zylus out of his uniform and into something less formal, I unfortunately need him back here, if you don’t mind,” Daltos blandly says from behind Rythian and Zoeya. The two of them split apart, swivelling to face him and Ravs.

Ravs and Daltos are standing a metre apart, with Ravs grinning broadly. Ignoring him, Daltos waits, looking expectantly at Rythian.

“Sure.” Rythian obliges, finding Zylus and easily bringing him back. He’s not going to carry out the first part, doubting his own capabilities there.

Now back, Zylus glares at Rythian, moving to stand next to Daltos. Daltos ignores him like he’d never made the stiff-sounding, albeit polite request. Rythian puzzles over the air between the two before mentally shrugging it off.

Whatever earlier friction is no longer charged, now settled between the two. Whatever neutral ground they’ve found is brand new, full of uncertainties that they’re both trying to deal with (each in their own way).

He kind of gets it, at the moment.

“Go ahead and ask, he’ll answer,” Ravs assures, with a proud look.

In response, Daltos makes a soft, derisive noise that doesn’t fool Ravs for one second. “We’re even after this.”

“Of course,” Ravs equably says, in a tone that says otherwise.

“So, what do you want to know?” Daltos keeps his gaze trained on Rythian. At least he’s not mocking or anything; if anything, a kind of respect’s crept into his expression.

“We need to know if someone called Sjin or Sips might have asked Lalna to steal a Vault Key from me,” Rythian reveals, the risk far outweighing the opposite. Rythian still doesn’t know what Ravs had done or said to bring Daltos around, nor can he care to guess. It’s not his business, he chastises himself.

Upon hearing Sjin’s name, Daltos’ face becomes neutral, looking like he’s about to say something crass. Instead, he shuts his mouth, glancing directly at Zylus (or so it looks that way, given that Teep is standing next to Zylus). Catching his eye, Zylus nods, encouragingly.

That appears to work. “Sips wouldn’t, but Sjin would,” Daltos carefully answers.

“How do we know you’re not bullshitting us?” Teep signs.

“Hey, you can trust him!” Ravs defends, placing his hands on his hips. An sudden, swift elbow to his side warns him to stay out of it. He grunts, staring at Daltos in surprise.

Withdrawing his elbow, Daltos deftly signs back, “I know when I’m outnumbered.” Teep lowers their hands, satisfied with the answer.

“What do we do? Lalna could have gone anywhere,” Zoeya observes. “We don’t know where we can find Lalna or Sjin-”

“You could go to Sjin’s office at Opportunity,” Daltos suggests. Everyone stares at him. It’s surprising that he’d volunteered information of his own accord this time. Even Ravs seems to be affected, blinking. “Your buddy might have gone there and if not, you can steal Sjin’s laptop, which has all his plans on it.” Daltos doesn’t look like he’s regretting his move.

“Why are you telling us this?” Rythian can’t help being suspicious, given how it’d taken several people to coax him into cooperating in the first place.

“It’s definitely  _ not _ personal in that I’m hoping that you’ll off Lalna if you do run into him,” Daltos sarcastically says, finally living up to the attitude Rythian expected of him.

“Daltos,” Zylus warns again, patting a pocket on his Dahl jacket. Metal jingles in the spot he’d patted.

“You can’t handcuff me in front of them, honey, or else they’ll want to join in too,” Daltos says without any humour. Zylus closes his eyes, appearing to count to ten before opening them again. “Alright, nobody deserves to be betrayed like that,” Daltos quietly says, without looking directly at him.

That makes Zylus blink, looking taken aback at the sudden admission. He too, looks away.

“So, we have a plan, which involves storming Opportunity,” Ravs proposes, seeming unusually pleased at the turn of events. He grinds his fist into the palm of his hand. “We get in there and take Sjin’s laptop-”

Daltos taps him on the shoulder, digistructing a white object in a gloved hand. He holds it out to Ravs between a thumb and forefinger. “You’ll need this.”

“My, you’re being very helpful today. You deserve a special ’reward’ of some kind.” Ravs waggles both eyebrows at him.

“Ravs, just take it before I shove it up your ass,” Daltos bluntly says.

“Well, Daltos, that’s not the only thing you’ve shoved up there,” Ravs responds, grinning suggestively at him.

“The only thing I’ve shoved up there is my boot because of your fucking terrible flirting,” Daltos fires back.

At that, Zoeya promptly excuses herself, dashing out of the room. In the next room over, Rythian can hear her cracking up. He’s tempted to join her (and beside him, Zylus makes the smallest, adorable sound of pure embarrassment). Keeping a straight face is about as tricky as reloading a Tediore rocket launcher while sprinting away from the enemy.

Ravs tilts his head, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “I’m sure Minty would be happy to confirm what’s been up my-” The card’s roughly shoved into his hands. “She also wasn't joking about hooking up again. Just in case you’re ever interested?”

“If you actually remember with your brain and not with your dick, she was talking about rations,” Daltos snaps, giving Rythian and Zylus a look of tried patience that’s about to run out.

“Stop flirting with him, you’ll never get anywhere,” Zylus interrupts, finally choosing to step in. The blush is back in full force as he’s addressing Ravs.

He’d spent the time hiding his face behind his hands, mortified at the blatant flirting happening in front of him. It’s hard to say if he’s intervening because of who the flirting’s directed towards.

“You’re absolutely right, I should. I’ll leave that up to you instead!” Ignoring Zylus’ sound of protest and an annoyed sigh from Daltos, Ravs flips the card over. It’s a white business card with a brown square embedded in it. “So, what’s this?”

“Security clearance to Opportunity. You’ll never get past the shield otherwise.” Daltos steps back, pulling out a cigarette.

Putting the card away, Ravs gives him an impossibly fond look that has Zylus hurriedly pretending to be interested in the floorboards. “Thank you, Daltos. You’ve helped us a lot today.”

“Just bring that Vault Key back,” Daltos lightly says, before smirking. He pulls out a red lighter, flicking it twice to light up his cigarette. “And if you run into Sjin, punch out his front teeth.”

“Will do,” Ravs swears. He turns to everybody else. “Wait, we only have one card-”

“I’ve got one,” Rythian interrupts. He reaches into his inventory, withdrawing a card identical to the one Ravs had received. The dried coffee stain across one corner’s still present on it. “You gave me this a long time ago, remember?”

“And so I did.” Ravs laughs at the good fortune. “I forgot all about that. Right, that’s two cards-”

> Make that three. I’m going too.

In the process of figuring out a plan, none of them had noticed Teep slipping out of the room after Zoeya. Saberial limps in with Zoeya hot on her heels. Teep wanders in after the two.

“What happened to you?” Ravs asks her. There’s a number of bandages and patches covering her face and arms. Saberial straightens up, pushing back her hair with a bandaged hand.

“Last job was, shall we say, a successful disaster.” Saberial’s tone is evasive. It’s the same tone that Rythian uses when he tries to explain to Lalna that no, he didn’t kill those bandits, he simply ‘relocated’ them to a better place. Nobody in the room would fall for that, except for Zoeya, who looks like she believes Saberial.

“I thought you had Panda with you.” Ravs frowns.

“Well, there were three of them and one turned out to be a werewolf, so things went south pretty quickly,” Saberial briskly explains. “Panda’s off delivering what they took from them. Anyway, weren’t we discussing a plan?”

Nobody’s going to argue with her obvious suggestion to switch topic.

“Yeah, we were. We infiltrate Opportunity using these things.” Rythian holds up the card in his hand. Forgive him if he’s skeptical of a card allowing access to the city that easy. “After that, we get Sjin’s laptop and see what he’s up to.” It doesn’t seem like much of a plan. It’s all that they have, though. “We don’t have any other alternative.”

“I can’t see anything wrong with that, and I’d go with you, but.” Saberial’s eyes flick to Zoeya. She looks like she’d rather be tagging along instead of sitting down, but the aggressively concerned look appearing on Zoeya’s face says that going is out of the question.

“You’re staying here, or I get the ECHOnet remote for a week,” Zoeya firmly says. “On the other hand, Teep can go.”

“Yes, dear,” Saberial meekly says as she’s effectively grounded. “I agree, Teep can go, I wasn’t about to stop them or anything.”

“Good.” Zoeya leads her over to the kitchen chair across from Rythian. “Then you gotta sit down before you make that leg of yours worse.”

“It’s just a gash, nothing to worry about-”

“I worry!” Exasperated at how Saberial’s brushing off her injury, Zoeya digistructs a medkit, unzipping it to hunt for bandages and disinfectant.

“Well, here you go, Teep.” Saberial passes over a white card. Teep gestures their thanks, pocketing it. “Hey, kick Sjin’s ass for me. The last job he sent me on still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Killing conmen just doesn’t seem right, even if they did nick a power core from this town.”

“Teep, is Zoeya really okay with this?” Rythian asks. Zoeya typically didn’t like Teep leaving on any sort of errand that might end in casualties of the human kind.

Zoeya nods, still pawing through the medkit. “It’s important to Teep and you. They’d probably sneak out anyway if I said ‘no’.”

> Well, you’re not wrong about that.

“Then it’s settled, the dream team’s all back together.” Ravs high fives Rythian, fist-bumping Teep. “Firstly, I need to go check with Lalnable if Lalna’s dropped by.”

“That’s a good idea,” Rythian says. “I need to come with you as well.” He stands, holding the blanket in place. He’d been thinking about whether or not if Ravs and Teep should accompany him. “Look, I think it’s best if I just went on my own to Opportunity and-” This is his problem.

Ravs lays a reassuring hand on Rythian’s shoulder. “Rythian, you can certainly try to stop me from coming-” Everyone but Daltos and Teep groan (who both share a familiar look instead). Ravs smirks. “But we both know how well that’ll go.”

“Same goes for me,” Teep signs. “Without the flirting.”

“Alright,” Rythian concedes. It looks like he can’t change Teep and Ravs’ minds. Maybe having them along will help.

“Right, we’d better head off before that storm hits…also, somebody wake up Nilesy and let him know that I’ll be back later,” Ravs muses.

“I’ll go and wake up Nilesy,” Saberial volunteers, limping her way over to the stairs. 

Frowning, Zoeya watches her before turning to Zylus. “Are you staying?” She asks Zylus as she’s zipping up the medkit. “It’ll be bad if you get rained on out there.”

Hearing her kind words, Zylus reaches out with a hand to tug on Daltos’ sleeve before he can leave without him. Daltos stops, turning to face Zoeya as well.

Teep appears besides Zoeya. Daltos eyes them before smirking, blowing a smoke ring in their direction. Teep waves it out of existence, keeping up a stoic facade.

“Nah, we got to get back to T-Bone Junction before the Fast Travel gets knocked out,” Zylus says. “You can always ECHO me about the plan.” As an afterthought, he adds, “We’ll help in whatever way we can.”

Daltos takes the cigarette out of his mouth. “Who’s the ‘we’ you’re talking about?” He drawls, his tone every so slightly insolent. “I never signed up for helping Vault Hunters clean up each other’s messes.”

“Sorry, but you did when you gave us all that information,” Zylus insists. The look on his face says ‘not now’.

“Yeah well, this,” Daltos gestures with a flick of his hand at Teep as he uses a Pandoran word for ‘chump’, “looked like they were going to fucking gut me if I didn’t.”

“It’s nice that you remember what I can do,” Teep signs, the motions satisfied.

“Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side, that’s for sure,” Daltos lightly says, putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

Teep reaches over to pluck it out of his mouth. They toss it. It flies into the bin without bouncing off the sides. “Smoking’s bad for you.”

There’s a suspenseful beat where Daltos raises an eyebrow. “You remind me of someone I want to punch,” He eventually mutters, stepping forwards.

Zylus’ hand impatiently tugs him towards the bar’s exit. “Come on, I can hear more thunder. Daltos, please don’t pick a fight with my friends.”

“That’s right, keep him on his leash, he probably likes it,” Teep signs at Zylus.

Without a change in his expression, Daltos flips Teep the finger as he’s pulled away by Zylus. “Takes one to know one!”

“Time to go,” Rythian concludes, nodding at Ravs.

\--

As agreed upon, Ravs, Rythian and Teep head off to Lalnable’s clinic.

In spite of who’s driving (surprise, it’s Ravs), the technical’s not being shaken about or apart by the shoddy, pothole riddled trail that’s the typical Pandoran road. Ravs is taking care to avoid them.

Rythian’s tucked in the back of the technical, shutting his eyes as all the minor bumps along the road aggravates the pain localising along his spine. There’s caltrops constantly jabbing into already tender skin, keeping the scratches open to torture him.

No matter how much it hurts, the flask is off-limits. His own pain tolerance’s never been the same prior to the incident back in the Vault ( _ her  _ Vault, he mentally corrects before he can help it).

Overhead, the gathered clouds mass, darkening the sky to a characteristic stormy grey. White snow along the mountaintops slide down as thunder dislodges them with a deafening clap that appears to come from right beside him. Every explosive boom makes Rythian’s hand fly to his modules; the threat’s up in the sky, not next to him, he has to keep telling himself.

Not fazed by the increasing thunder, Teep’s crouched next to Rythian, mopping up the last of the dried blood from Rythian’s back with cotton wool. Each damp wad’s lobbed into same plastic bag from earlier. They’re not being neither rough or gentle about it, utilising a practical efficiency that he’s seen demonstrated towards dismantling a gun for its coveted parts.

“Reminds me of that one time Ravs got shot,” Rythian mutters, currently being reminded of the incident. “I think you’re the only one who hasn’t gotten hurt so badly in the past.” Minus that one other time; Teep takes no offence, staring at him for a second.

> That’s because you two are fucking noobs.

Rythian lifts a preparatory hand that Teep grabs onto, using the hand that’s free of blood. With their other, bloody hand, Teep slowly points to Rythian, themself, then at the blurring road underneath them. They finish all that off by indicating a single line across their throat. 

“If you do that, I’m taking you with me, right?” Rythian guesses.

> Bingo.

He lowers his hand at failing a bluff. Teleporting him  _ and  _ Teep out of the technical’s only going to delay the search for Lalna, no matter how much he wants to fuck with Teep.

Ravs brings the technical to an eventual halt in front of the clinic, hopping out to help Rythian down. Rythian collects the waste bag (and new plan, it goes into the nearest incinerator instead of the bin). Teep’s vaulted out, wandering over to knock on the door. 

Nobody answers. The three of them find this rather unusual.

“Maybe he’s out?” Rythian suggests, his gaze searching the door for a note of some kind. None’s present.

One, Lalnable is deliberately ignoring them. Two, he’s taking his sweet time to get to the door. Three, he’s not here and is away on an emergency house call. There’s lights turned on inside the clinic. All it indicates is that  _ someone’s _ in there.

“Nah, can’t be.” Ravs knocks, his knuckles rapping on the metal in a catchy rhythm. “Lalnable! We have a patient for you!” Even weirder, the door’s locked when he tries it. For an all hours clinic, a locked door at this hour’s out of place.

“Just  _ wait _ , I’m here,” grouses a muffled, familiar voice as the door swings open. There stands Lalnable. 

Even in the poor light from outside, Rythian, Ravs and Teep take in the dark, coloured patches adorning his face. 

A bandage covers the bridge of Lalnable’s nose. One blacked eye’s swelling shut, leaving him one functional eye. Dried blood spots the upper half of his doctor’s outfit, a messy splatter that Rythian attributes to a nosebleed. A scratch is scabbing over on Lalnable’s mouth, several others decorating the rest of his face where bruises didn’t.

“What happened to you?” Ravs is already leaning over Lalnable, examining him. “Who did this?” He sharply demands.

Lalnable’s face manages to visibly frown. “There’s no point in asking, Parvis already dealt with them.” His voice is a pained rasp. That’s not a change that the three like, in comparison to Lalnable’s usual one.

“I’d still like to know,” Ravs insists, almost filling the doorway with his frame. “We can’t have people beating up our only doctor.”

“I’m  _ fine _ so stop dawdling and get in before the rain starts,” Lalnable irritably snaps, sounding like his old self. He turns to stride back inside, only to be blocked by Teep.

Ravs reaches over, gently tugging down the collar of Lalnable’s lab coat. There are five finger-shaped bruises wrapped around Lalnable’s neck. The three of them are all intimately familiar with the progress of bruises over time. These ones are fresh, all evenly spaced out along the skin beneath Lalnable’s chin. 

Before Ravs can inspect further, Lalnable slaps his hand away.

Perhaps Ravs had let him, in order to methodically crack his knuckles. The sound’s like bones being destroyed, popping and snapping under immense force. “Which way did they go?”

“They’re gone, like I said,” Lalnable insists, his voice breaking here and there. He’s forced to cough into a hand before he can continue. “Do you want me to  _ help _ you or not?”

“Ravs, if he says they’re gone, they’re gone,” Rythian intervenes before Ravs gets scary. Ravs doesn’t seem that happy to be told to desist. Still, he steps back a few seconds later. Good, Rythian didn’t fancy having to teleport Ravs halfway up a mountain to let him work off his temper.

Lalnable glances at Rythian, raising a blond eyebrow at the lack of a shirt. “Don’t you know that you’ll catch a cold that way?”

“I’ve never caught a cold,” Ravs mutters to Teep.

“That’s because colds catch you, not the other way around, you idiot,” Teep signs back. It restores a smile to Rav’s face as Ravs flips them the bird.

“I need you to take a look at my back,” Rythian tries to explain while that’s going on. “I cut it on some rocks. Badly.”

Lalnable pauses, digesting the feeble explanation. Whatever conclusion he reaches, he keeps private. “This way,” He finally says. “Come on, you two might need to hold Rythian down.” The room he leads them into is a general examination one. He gestures for Rythian to lie down on a cloth covered benchtop.

“Can you see out of that eye?” Rythian’s helped up by Ravs, grimacing as the scratch’s forced to stretch with the move. A brief shimmy lets him lie down flat on his front, resting his chin on the back of his hands. The blanket’s still covering his back, serving to delay the inevitable.

Lalnable’s washing his hands as he scoffs, “I can see fine, you should worry about yourselves more.” Toweling his hands dry, he sniffs. “I’ll put some ice on it later.”

Teep sharply turns towards the hallway behind them, tilting their head.

“See something?” Ravs squints at the darkened hallway. Huh, there’s shards of glass on the floor there. It’s not like Lalnable to leave a mess out in the open.

“Nothing,” Teep signs. “Unless I’m about to clock out again.”

Lalnable sighs. “That must be Parvis sneaking some jerky out. He must have knocked something over  _ again _ .” He frowns at Teep. “That reminds me, you and I need to talk about your insomnia.” 

To that, Teep instantly gestures, “Fuck no.”

“If Parvis is here, I can give him some of Teep’s jerky,” Ravs generously volunteers. Somehow, Rythian suspects that he’s going to sweep up the glass on his way back.

“No, as I said, you need to stay here and hold Rythian down.” Lalnable directs him and Teep over to Rythian, closing the door with an annoyed snap. “I’ll deal with Parvis and his mess later.”

Hands (two composed of smooth, textured material, and two leathery, roughened over time and wonderfully warm) settle against Rythian’s bare, upper arms. The bandages he typically ties have loosened, ringing around his elbows instead.

While Zoeya’s reaction to his back had gone against his expectations, when it comes to Lalnable, he doesn’t know if he can hold him to the same standard. Gloves are snapped on.

“Wait, Lalnable!”

The hand about to tug down the blanket pauses. “Yes?”

“Before you pull off the blanket, you can’t tell anybody what you’re about to see!” Panicking, Rythian shifts under Ravs and Teep’s firm hands holding him down against the bench, changing his mind.

He can’t see Lalnable’s expression (and it’s terribly funny how it reminds him of Lalna, making him think that the last expression he’d ever seen might have been tear-streaked).

“Rythian, as much as you believe me to be an asshole, I do maintain patient confidentiality,” Lalnable dryly says. He leans over to peer right into Rythian’s wide eyes, his gaze filled with genuine hurt. “You wouldn’t be the first to ask that of me, to hide what I’ve seen here. If you still don’t want me to proceed, you need to tell me now and I’ll find an alternative to treat your back.”

“Breathe, Rythian,” Ravs reminds. “You’re alright.”

Lalnable continues to peer right into Rythian’s eyes, waiting. Rythian obeys the reminder, working his chest against the table’s cool, clothed surface until the panic’s subsided.

“Nod if you need something to help calm you down,” Lalnable prompts. 

To that, Rythian shakes his head. He has to be awake for this, not dosed up and possibly missing what happens next. “I’m sorry.”

“The option still remains,” Lalnable says like the events in the past five minutes haven’t happened.

“No, I need to remember this. Please continue,” Rythian murmurs, his fingers digging into the pillow beneath his hands.

The blanket’s folded down.

Rythian forces himself to go slack on the bench. He can feel cold air ghost over the scratches on his back, plus the enormous patch of disfigured skin he’d been hiding. Lalnable exhales with a sharpness that the three can interpret as his surprise, taking in all the scarring in silence. 

Water from the dripping sink echoes in the room, each falling drop counting time for them.

“Well, well, I can say that you’re the first to actually surprise me.” Rythian’s free hand find Ravs’ wrist, squeezing it as Lalnable’s gloved fingers examine the actual wound. “I assume you want me to have a look at the bleeding one?”

“Yes. Is it bad?” What’s making him anxious is that in such close proximity to the affliction, the scratch will also take after the other scarring.

“You should have come to me straightaway.” An exasperated note slips into Lalnable’s voice. “This’ll need to be disinfected before I can stitch it up.” There’s the practical, hardened surgeon that they’ve all come to know.

“I know how it goes.” Rythian impatiently sighs, remembering the last time he’d had stitches put in at this exact clinic. It might have even been in this same room. “Just get it over and done with already, I need to go somewhere.”

Lalnable doesn’t ask where, getting on with it. As he works, Rythian occasionally winces, jolting underneath Ravs and Teep’s hands as black threads are manipulated into place. The sting from the alcohol (or whatever Lalnable used) still stings, the pain making Rythian want to drop his head into the pillow, wanting it to be over and done already.

“How did this happen?” When nobody answers Lalnable, he thoughtfully adds, “This seems like an unusual case of eridium poisoning.”

“Eridium poisoning?” Ravs’ hand massages the back of Rythian’s shoulder, warming it. “Is that what they call it?”

“It’s defined as when eridium’s ingested or if it comes into direct contact with skin, provided if it’s in a volatile enough state to begin with.”

“...Can I please get that in layman’s terms?”

> It’s when people are idiots and eat eridium and think they can get superpowers from it, or when they touch it when it’s not been processed.

“So, what’s wrong with Rythian? Why are you looking at him like that?”

“You’ll forgive me if I look surprised at Rythian’s condition, given that most people who have it tend to eventually die. It’s not something that I can treat.” Lalnable sounds frustrated to be foiled in his noble quest to save lives.

“I’ve had the scars for a long time now,” Rythian belatedly responds, closing his eyes. He hadn’t known what the scars had been, not at first. It’d taken him a stupidly long time for him to work out what’d happened. Not that it’d have made a difference, in the end. “If I haven’t died yet, then I’m fine.”

“And you don’t feel strange? No headaches, no nausea, no irrational mood swings? No odd ramblings of any kind?”

He has to think about what’s Lalnable asking, comparing his own recollections. If his recollections had been a report, there’d be red marks all over it to point out the glaring discrepancies. 

“No, nothing along those lines.” 

Not unless they’re counting how teleporting’s become second nature to him. Other people don’t carry short-range teleporters so it’s not like he can ask them ‘hey, I can teleport crazy good but my teleporter’s not doing it, what do you think might be happening?’. And the presence waiting for an opportunity to awaken again, without being blocked by him.

“The scars don’t hurt?”

“No.” That’s the truth. They haven’t hurt; they’re prone to the odd, rare tingling. Any sort of pain’s been strangely absent once the skin had eventually healed over. If it hadn’t been for his shame, guilt, the appearance or the manner in which they’d happened, Rythian would be treating them as any normal sets of scars.

“Can you feel this?” A finger traces one of the outermost folds, following the nail-sized hill.

Rythian rolls his shoulder blade back. “Yes, and it actually kind of tickles.”

“Hm.” Lalnable’s thumb finds a different scar, a lumpier one, closer to where his spine’s located. “What about now?” He presses down,  _ hard _ .

Swearing, Rythian jerks against the table, almost sitting up and punching Lalnable. Ravs and Teep react at the same time, forcing him to return to his prone position. Rather than propping himself up on his folded arms on the table, he swings his head around to glare instead. 

“Why the  _ fuck _ did you do that? You can’t just go pushing down on people’s scars!” Rythian snaps.

“I apologise, I actually didn't think that would do anything, since you said it didn’t hurt.” Lalnable’s apology  _ seems _ sincere. Both gloved hands are raised; he can see that Lalnable’s surprise is also genuine.

“And did you get anything from hurting Rythian?” Rythian doesn’t have to look over to know that Ravs is giving Lanable a look, as is Teep. He’d tell them to knock it off it he hadn’t been feeling spiteful towards him.

“I did, actually.” Lalnable’s hands return to Rythian’s back. “There appears to be something stuck under or in the skin.”

“That’d be my fault,” Ravs confesses. “I didn’t get all the shards out properly.”

“Ravs, it’s not your fault, you did the best you could, at the time,” Rythian says. “You got most of them out, actually. And like I said, it doesn’t hurt, not until  _ somebody  _ goes shoving down on them.”

Teep would have done a better job, but they’d been occupied with their own (possibly worse) injury. Ravs had taken up the knife in their absence and as Rythian had said, he’d done the best he could under the pressing, harrowing circumstances.

“I said I was sorry,” Lalnable defensively points out. In a gentler voice, he offers, “Do you want me to try to get the rest of whatever’s in there out?”

Rythian’s hands find the edge of the table, gripping it. He’d knocked the pillow off the bench, wishing that he still had it to cling to. 

“No,” He slowly says. Touching the scars is bad enough, cutting them open is- no, he steers his imagination well away. One bad reaction’s enough.

“I swear, you Vault Hunters-” Lalnable stops, breathing out, then in, trying to sound calm if it hadn’t been for the trying note. “It won’t take long to operate, and you’ll be out the whole time. I can also personally guarantee that you’ll be back on your feet before the week is over.”

“ _ No _ .”

> Respect the ‘no’, doc.

“It’s Lalnable,” Lalnable tersely says. “It’ll be better for your back in the long run. How it hasn’t gotten infected is a  _ miracle _ .”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m still sticking to my original answer.”

“Tell me, Rythian, do you find it  _ fun _ to voluntarily leave volatile alien matter stuck in your back?”

“No, but if I take them out, then I worry that something will happen!”

“Nothing is going to happen!”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve operated on people who’ve eaten eridium and most of them end up fine!”

“And the others?”

“Dead, but due to other complications, and not because they’re being stubborn about-”

“It’ll hurt after, like last time!”

“It won’t, because I’ll be saving my best drugs for you!”

“Calm down, both of you!” Ravs shouts, his voice filling the room. He adopts a businesslike tone, “Lalnable, please respect Rythian’s decision.”

“It’s hard to respect an idiot,” Lalnable automatically says.

“And Rythian,” Ravs continues like Lalnable hadn’t said anything, “you should think harder about the offer. I don’t like what’s happened to your back either.”

“...When you put it like that, I don’t think I will,” Rythian mutters, turning his head to see a fretting Ravs and one incensed Lalnable.

“That wasn’t an innuendo,” Ravs notes. “Lalnable’s loads better at getting stuff out.” The look Lalnable shoots at him is hard to decipher; it could have been grateful or surprised at the compliment. “Please.” When Ravs looks at him like that, full of tender concern, Rythian can’t do shit about how he reacts to it. 

So far, Lalnable’s demonstrated that he can be trusted, more so than others.

“Once all this is over, then,” Rythian decides. “I’ll come back and have the operation.”

“ _ Thank you.  _ In that case, I take back what I said about you being an idiot. _ ”  _ Lalnable sighs, fixing Ravs with an impressed look. “I should keep you around, you seem to able to convince the most stubborn patients to do what’s best for them.”

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’ll just be a terrible distraction while you work,” Ravs laughs, sounding rather flattered at the job offer of being convincing eye candy. The mental image of Ravs in any kind of outfit aside from the one he’s wearing makes Rythian try his hardest to keep a poker face.

“Hm, that’s a good point. I can’t have Parvis knocking over more things than he already is.”

“Where’s Teep?” Rythian asks, noticing a certain hooded figure’s absence.

> Here.

Teep returns through the open door, closing it behind them. They’re holding two mugs.

“Where’d you disappear to?” Ravs inquires.

“Cleaned up all the broken glass, then went and made coffee,” Teep explains once they’ve handed over a mug to Rythian. It is indeed, filled with coffee, still steaming and filling the room with its delightful scent.

“Thank you.” Rythian has to admit that he’s touched by the gesture. It doesn't occur to him to be suspicious of it either.

“How very kind of you,” Ravs says, accepting the mug that Teep holds out to him. “It’s not like you to make coffee.”

“You’d be surprised at how much coffee Zoeya and Saberial ingest. I’m not sure how they’re still in this dimension.”

“Likewise,” Lalnable says, appearing to scrutinise Teep closely. “Even if you did take the last of my clean mugs.”

Ignoring that comment, Teep waits until Rythian and Ravs are sipping the coffee before calmly signing, “By the way, I saw Lalna outside.”

“ _ What _ ?” Rythian and Ravs say, starting.

“Don’t spill the coffee I made you, or I’ll be really upset,” Teep warns.

Rythian and Ravs glance down at the coffee busily sloshing around in the mugs that they’re currently holding. It’s then that they realise the real reason why Teep had made the coffee: to get them to stay put.

“You clever bastard.” Ravs shoots Teep an admiring look.

“He saw me and took the Fast Travel before I could get him.” They seem disgruntled to have missed the chance to dismember Lalna.

“Lalnable, did you know about this?” Rythian questions. He’s not accusing Lalnable. Yet.

“No, he must have wanted to check up on me,” Lalnable says, frowning. “I don’t think he knew you three were here, and I thought he’d be with you three. What did he do to piss you off?”

“He tased me, then left me to die at the hands of bullymongs after stealing my trinket,” Rythian explains, beginning to tire of repeatedly explaining what happened at the Southern Shelf.

“That would explain his reaction, then.” Lalnable sighs, his hands moving to his face. Remembering that he has gloves on, he lowers them, giving Rythian a look of sympathy. It makes him look younger than he really is.

“We won’t hurt you if you’re lying to us, but we’ll be pretty disappointed,” Ravs says, already sounding it.

“I’ll take my chances.” Lalnable gestures for Rythian to lie down again. “I need to finish your stitches. We've gotten sidetracked too much.” While the conversation seems over far too quickly for Rythian’s liking, the stitches still need attention. Pissing off Lalnable and finishing them himself isn’t a good idea.

Rythian puts the mug down on a trolley that Teep sends rolling over from the other side of the room. “Sure.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Lalnable warns a few minutes later, cutting the last of the thread. “You’ve seen what happened to Strife when he tore his.”

Sitting up, Rythian nods, pulling on a clean shirt and his spare coat (hating how he remembers lending Lalna this one). The scarf pools around his neck on top of it. Without the trinket, Rythian’s body feels lighter but at the same time, vulnerable. Ravs, Teep and Lalnable leave him alone so that he can change into pants that aren’t bloodied.

Not wanting to waste the lukewarm coffee, Rythian drinks it. At the same time, he allows his mind to dwell on current events.

He’s now devoid of a purpose to aimlessly wander. He can do whatever he wanted to now, even go home. As much as he wants to, even after all this time, he still won’t, not with new goals in place.

At least these new goals are feasible.

There’s a Vault he has to track down and prevent its opening, plus finding a wayward Vault Hunter. Was this how Ravs, Zylus, Nilesy, Zoeya and Teep (plus anybody else he hasn’t mentioned) must have felt when he’d gone missing?

In the clinic’s waiting room, he finds Ravs, Teep and Lalnable. Lalnable’s holding onto Ravs’ mug, the two chatting in low voices.

“Ready?” Ravs holds the door open for him. Teep’s already gone outside to wait by the Fast Travel Station.

“Yeah,” Rythian responds.

“Just one more thing, before we go.” Rythian turns to face Lalnable in the clinic’s doorway.

“Yes?” Lalnable surveys him. The swollen eye and patches on his face make his expression difficult to read.

“Do you have any idea where Lalna might have gone to?”

“No, I don’t, nor do I care to guess at what he did to you,” Lalnable responds after a beat. “That’s his business, not mine. All I’m sorry for is that he truly is an imbecile for backstabbing you.” He leans on the doorway, rubbing his bruised face with a hand, wincing as he disturbs his damaged eye. “If I’d known he’d do something like this, I’d have warned you in advance.”

Rythian hadn’t been expecting that kind of apology, if ever. He nods. ”Thank you for your help.” He tugs out a few wads of bills (old and beginning to fall apart, like everything else he owns), holding them out as payment. 

Lalnable rejects them, shaking his head. “I doubt you’ll spare him if you catch up with him, but if you can, that would be...appreciated.” His shoulders sag. “We still haven’t gotten around to telling our parents that we’re now talking.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to kill him either.” And now that Lalnable’s made that nearly impossible request of him, Rythian supposes it provides extra motivation to  _ not _ kill Lalna.

By the Fast Travel Station, Teep and Ravs are playing rock, paper, scissors to see if Ravs owes Teep a favour for the passable coffee (to which Teep had guessed right in regards to Ravs and Rythian’s respective tastes).

“Good luck, and I expect you back here at some point to get your back looked back,” Lalnable eventually says, closing the door. Rythian can hear him walking off down the hallway to presumably get some ice at last.

“I’ll visit Parvis once I get back,” Ravs says, shaking his head when Teep throws out paper to his rock. Over at the dam, Buzzards begin to touch down on the ramparts. One narrowly dodges a lightning strike, the pilots and occupants screaming. The three don’t notice the sight.

“Back to Sanctuary Hole or straight to Opportunity?” Teep asks.

“We’ve wasted enough time here, so let’s go to Opportunity. We can catch up with the others later.” As the three activate the Fast Travel Station, the first of the rain begins to fall down over Three Horns with crescendos of thunder.

\--

Located further down south and to the east past the cliffside down of Overlook, Opportunity is situated in the middle of a man-made lake. A Hyperion-style bridge connects the isolated city to the rest of the mainland.

Rythian can see why it’s pointless to enter Opportunity via it, not without the right clearance; the shield’s one of the largest he’s ever encountered. He couldn’t say for sure how much power it needs to remain active. It’d still be a fucking lot though, perhaps exceeding Sanctuary Hole’s own demands.

Before Fast Traveling, he’d expected the city to reject their request to enter, to be spat back out at Three Horns along with his two companions. The cards stowed in their inventories appear to pass an invisible check.

Once he arrives, he joins Ravs and Teep by the bridge, blinking at the shield over their heads. It’s keeping the rain out, much to his relief. The new stitches tighten against his back. Mindful of tearing them, Rythian tries not to move so abruptly, heeding the warning he’d gotten.

“Fancy. I should have dressed up for this,” Ravs notes, glancing around them. Opportunity is quiet. A couple of suited people take one look at the three and immediately head towards the safety of buildings across from them. “Daltos says to head towards the back of Opportunity along the right hand side, and Sjin’s office should be obvious.”

“Wait, you’re talking to him right now?” 

Even though Daltos had provided them the incentive to enter Opportunity and had given them the ability to do so, Rythian can’t help but still be wary. Clearly, Ravs trusts Daltos.

That’s a part of Ravs’ history that Rythian still doesn’t know about. Teep might, if Teep hasn’t resorted to making Daltos’ life difficult yet; perhaps they’re only tolerating him because Ravs is. Their behaviour back at the Crooked Caber demonstrated that in full.

Come to think of it, Teep tolerated a lot of things they might not otherwise when other people asked them to- maybe that’s why they hadn’t killed Lalna on the spot. They’d known that Rythian and Lalnable hadn’t wanted a dead Lalna. 

Rythian squints at Teep, inwardly marvelling at their apparent restraint and self-control. If he’d run into Lalna straight after what’d happened at the Southern Shelf, there’s virtually no guarantee that he’d have let Lalna leave, not in one piece (no matter what he’d said to Lalnable).

“You’re staring at me,” Teep signs at him.

“It’s nothing.” He has a strong feeling that Teep would deny it if he tried asking whether they’d spared Lalna on purpose for his and Lalnable’s sake.

“Nah, he left a message before heading back to T-Bone Junction with Zylus,” Ravs says with a pleased grin. Not going to burst Ravs’ bubble out of baseless cautiousness, Rythian takes a step towards the marker Ravs set.

“Come on, we need to find that building-” Odd, he’s being pinged. Rythian picks up without glancing too closely at who's calling him. “Hello?”

“Rythian!” Sjin’s chirpy voice greets. “I just wanted to let you know that you’re not going to find Lalna in Opportunity, and that it’s finally a great pleasure to hear you in person at last. You’re a hard one to track down.”

“Sjin,” Rythian says, secretly adding Ravs and Teep to the ECHO call. The two stop besides him. He gestures for the two to (hopefully) remain quiet.

“Your trinket is very interesting, I must say,” Sjin continues. “It’s made from rakk hive bone, not an easy item to carve or obtain.” Rythian can hear Sjin slamming something onto a wooden surface. “Or break.”

He knows he’s being petty for enjoying how Sjin sounds annoyed at how much the trinket is resisting all attempts to open it. 

There’s a hissing noise, like gas being dispersed, plus Sjin’s hasty rustling, a lot like stacks of paper being shifted out of the way. It’s not too much for him to hope that Sjin’s being set on fire by his own clumsiness. Considering what Sjin’s put him through, that’s pretty fucking fair to want.

Rakk hive bones are naturally indestructible. That’s the main reason for why the bones could be found littered all over Pandora.

“I think you’re better return that before you regret opening up that Vault,” Rythian helpfully suggests. “That particular Vault’s not meant to be opened. I’d even let you go without shooting you.” It’s not like him to threaten someone so openly; it speaks a lot about how much he already loathes Sjin to stoop to that tactic.

Ravs and Teep indicate their disagreement via a series of silent knuckle crunching and miming stabbing someone. The two otherwise, stay silent.

“Why else would they call them ‘Vaults’, if they weren’t meant to be opened?” Sjin counters. His words echo what Nanosounds had said, back at the Bloodshot Ramparts. That’s neither here nor there. Rythian’s about to fire back a retort that humans named the Vaults, while the Eridians had an alternate name for them when something smashes against wood, shattering. “I did it! I cracked it!”

Rythian freezes. “You-”

“Rakk hive bones are particularly susceptible to liquid nitrogen, did you know? It becomes incredibly brittle, and shatters so easily with enough force.” Sjin chuckles, scattering fragments like rolling dice. “It’s so  _ small _ ! I can see why you've succeeded in hiding it under people’s noses for so long.”

“Why are you calling me to let me know that you’ve succeeded in finding the Vault Key?” Other people wouldn’t have bothered; they’d just have gone right to the whole ‘open the Vault’ step.

“For gloating purposes!” Sjin triumphantly crows.

“Fuck you,” Rythian calmly says.

“I’ve won, Rythian, and there’s nothing you can do-” A second later, the ECHO device sails through the air to splash into the lake. It barely disturbs the surface of the water, already sinking beyond sight.

Breathing hard, Rythian straightens up. His back twinges from throwing his ECHO device with all of his strength. It’s fine, even if Sjin has the Vault Key, there’s no way that he’ll be able to access the site, not without a metric ton of explosives to blow past all the-  _ the mining rig. _

Rythian curses, the expletive frightening a man who scuttles into the nearest office building.

Meanwhile, Ravs winces as his ears fill with the sound of bubbling as the ECHO device sinks. Teep shakes their head at Rythian’s loss of temper.

“Well, that’s one way to end a call,” Ravs observes, giving Rythian a reproachful look. “You’re probably going to want that back, though.”

“You’re right.” Rythian refrains from sighing, reaching out to find his ECHO device and tug it back.

It lands in his hand, dripping lake water. One rough shake dislodges a miniature waterfall from the speakers; thankfully, ECHO devices can withstand water, given Pandora’s unpredictable weather. He tucks it back into his inventory.

Right, he’ll get that laptop and confirm his hypothesis. Sjin can’t be using the mining rig; he’d need more power than the one burst it has to break through the rockslide that Rythian and Teep had caused long ago to cover the Vault’s entrance. Or lots of manpower and time. He doubts Sjin has both, not unless Sjin’s that powerful.

It’d have been easier to send someone after Rythian, but. Sjin had tried that, using Martyn and Hat Corp., and Hat Corp. had failed horrifically on that front while Martyn had used it to his personal advantage. Still, there’s other people (like Saberial and Panda) willing to haul in a Vault Hunter if paid enough.

Rythian can’t help feeling proud of the way he hadn’t left much of a trail to avoid being harassed over the years. So, why would Sjin opt to go about opening that one Vault in such a convoluted, messy manner?

He’d even ECHOed Rythian to  _ brag  _ about it.

The rain continues to gloomily beat down against Opportunity’s shield. As Daltos had said, Sjin’s office is located along the waterfront. 

It could be an ambush, a tiny voice inside Rythian’s head points out. At this point, the voice of caution can go and fuck itself; he’s not in a mood to play any of its tedious games. He’s done giving a fuck.

The three cross the second bridge, entering the building. In the lobby, a lone figure is attending to the front desk. They glance up, not so much as reacting as fighting the urge to run and hide. 

“What do you want?” They call out, shrinking against their chair like they might phase through it with enough concentration. 

Anticipating his move, Teep grabs Rythian’s scarf, preventing him from teleporting over and knocking the poor secretary out.

A confident Ravs breezes by, striding over to lean on the desk, flashing a charming smile. “Your number.”

The figure eyes Ravs, swallowing as Ravs’ words defy some sort of expectation they had. “Okay, what do you  _ really  _ want?”

“Sherlock, do you really want me to say it in front of these two?” Ravs nods, acknowledging Teep and Rythian who have joined him at the desk. 

Except Teep goes off to examine the magazines neatly stacked atop a coffee table, sitting down in one of the plush chairs to peruse one of them.

Rythian gets that they’re trying to appear as non-threatening as possible to give Ravs the best chance of succeeding at whatever it is that he’s doing. Rythian joins Teep, annoyed that his chance to make this quick was ruined by their quick thinking.

Teep hands Rythian a random magazine that’s opened up to a random page. It’s full of models in suits, almost exactly the same one as the secretary is currently wearing.

> Here.

He deadeyes Teep. “This is a fashion magazine.” Fashion is nothing he’d consider a priority on Pandora.

> And you’re a fashion disaster, so it’s perfect for you.

“You know what, Zylus could use this.” Rythian pockets the magazine to send along later. Or use as spare kindling.

> Good point. He needs it more than you do.

“I don’t suppose we could discuss the matter somewhere more privately? I hear these offices are incredibly soundproof...” Ravs playfully inquires.

Rythian barely pays attention to Sherlock’s flustering stuttering, unable to figure out if he’s annoyed at Ravs, Sjin or everything else happening around him and to him.

This is the same feeling he’d felt when he’d watched Ravs lead Daltos away in the bar, and as with every single other time he’d witnessed Ravs be his natural, stupid, charming self.

> You jelly?

Ignore Teep.

> You so are.

Keep ignoring them.

> Called it.

“I am not!” Rythian hisses at Teep. Teep turns a page of a magazine they’d picked up, without looking at him.

> I haven’t seen you this grouchy since I took your scarf off you back at Digistruct Peak.

“I am not jealous,” Rythian maintains.

“You could always tell him to stop,” Teep points out, folding the magazine shut to stare directly at Rythian. 

If Teep hadn’t closed their eyes when they’d pushed their goggles up back at Sanctuary Hole, Rythian could have at least tried to imagine their current expression now. He still doesn’t know what their whole face looks like.

“I doubt he’d stop if I asked,” He mutters.

“He would,” Teep says, leaving it at that because Rythian’s marched over to Ravs’ side.

“We have a job to do, Ravs,” Rythian whispers, just a fraction too loudly.

“Hush, Rythian, I’m still talking to the nice man,” Ravs tries to cover up when Sherlock’s infatuated mind rolls a natural twenty on the required perception check.

“What job?” He eyes Ravs and Rythian, forgetting about being flattered into giving these bandits access to the upper floors. 

His hand rests on the giant alarm button under the counter, ready to call the Loaders to his aid. There’s also whether or not he can get away before these people beat the shit out of him is debatable, and he’s always scored second to last place in the hundred metre dash (whether in kindergarten or university).

> Good job, Rythian. He almost had it.

> FINE, I ACTUALLY AM JEALOUS.

Ravs smiles, a tad ruefully. His hands flatten on the surface of Sherlock’s desk. “I’m dreadfully sorry for lying to you.”

“Are you really?” Sherlock retorts, looking let down. And here, he’d thought Ravs had meant every word.

“Yes, I am.” Ravs sighs. “The truth is that we’re here to gain access to Sjin’s office, find out what he’s planning on doing with a Vault and stop it.” Rythian and Teep wait to see if being honest works.

A muscle spasms under Sherlock’s left eye. “You’re here to gain access to Sjin’s office, find out what he’s planning on doing with a Vault and stop it.” As he repeats Ravs’ words in a monotone, his adam’s apple bobs like a floating cork on top of a moving wave. If he looks any more nauseous, Rythian’s going to teleport out of puking range (minus Teep and Ravs).

“Yes!” Rythian exclaims, expecting an alarm to sound any second. It’s not fucking rocket science and if Ravs doesn’t hurry up and convince the guy to let them upstairs, Rythian’s going to teleport upstairs, with or without permission.

“I’m not dreaming?” There’s a glaze to Sherlock’s eyes.

“I can slap you, if you want,” Teep offers (not out of the kindness of their heart), getting up from their chair. 

They toss the weapons catalogue back onto the mess of a pile there. That earns an annoyed look from Sherlock, who’d probably spent fifteen minutes organising them into neat stacks that Teep’s just ruined with their haphazard perusing.

“No, thank you, I know when I’m not dreaming.” Sherlock perks up, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’ll let you up into the office.” It looks like he’s just won the lottery, going all teary eyed and sniffly.

“You really will?” Ravs beams at him. “Thank you very much, that saves us the trouble of having to knock you out.”

“Unfortunately, you’ll have to do that.” Sherlock winces, wiping a stray tear away with his handkerchief (that’s patterned with twenty-sided dice). “Unless you can think of another way to get me out of the picture.” Stuffing the damp cloth back into his suit’s breast pocket, his eyes flick to the quietly whirring, panning security cameras located near the ceiling.

Rythian, Ravs and Teep share a thoughtful look (or in Teep’s case, they tilt their head, which works just as well). 

“Put him in the closet so he doesn’t get in the way,” Rythian suggests.

“Let me pretend to kick and scream!” Sherlock slams his hands down on the desk, sending the stationary flying. He whispers, “So that Sjin doesn’t think I’m purposefully letting you in.” Beginning to mouth off, he gesticulates widely, telling them to shove off amongst an assortment of other things (that’s mostly about his boss being an asshole). 

As the tirade washes over him, Rythian has to tug his scarf higher up his face to avoid bursting into laughter. Watching Sherlock is like watching a kitten trying to attack a slipper that’d crossed it (courtesy of Nilesy sharing his treasure trove of ECHOnet videos, all cat-related). 

Next to him, Teep remains impassive. They eventually consult an imaginary watch strapped to their wrist, tapping it with a finger. Ravs interprets the cue as a sign to do something before they take it into their own hands.

The front desk doesn’t have any barriers so all Ravs has to do is step behind it. “Up we go,” He grunts, hefting Sherlock up over one shoulder.

Sherlock screams silently, appearing to throw a tantrum at being manhandled. Thinking ahead, Rythian tracks down a broom closet several metres away, holding the door open. Out of range of the cameras, Ravs gently sets Sherlock down.

A red faced Sherlock shuffles (with unusual enthusiasm) into the closet. “Thank you! I’ll stay here until you’re gone and then I can finally resign-” Rythian closes the door on his babbling, glad that that’s over and done with.

“What? I left it unlocked!” He defensively says at the raise of eyebrows he gets from Ravs.

“Wait, hang on, I forgot to disable the death wall,” Sherlock breathlessly says, barging out of the closet.

“Won’t Sjin get suspicious if you come back in one piece?” Rythian points out. While it’s great and all that Sherlock’s willing to help out, they’re  _ wasting  _ time dawdling like this.

“You’re right.” Sherlock concentrates, snapping his fingers. “I got this, I’ve seen this in the movies!”

When he holds up a hand after a minor fumble, he reveals a packet of tomato sauce (according to the tiny print label, it’s also fruit free) sitting on his palm. Ravs and Rythian are too baffled to stop Sherlock from squeezing the packet with all his might. Teep watches with their usual impassiveness.

Possibly feeling sorry (or taking the chance to be a massive troll). Teep leans over to clap their hands over Sherlock’s. It causes the packet’s contents to spray all over Sherlock’s immaculate business suit.

That’d been what he’d been intending as he smears it all over the front of his suit, looking disgusted for a moment.

“Thanks,” He says to Teep. Teep dusts their hands, retreating to Rythian’s side.

> You’re fucking welcome.

That one goal accomplished, he drops into a crouch. A shuffle and a crawl brings him over to the front desk. There, he pretends to drag himself up like he’s wounded, trailing tomato sauce all over the white surface of the counter. Acting out his last throes of life, he strives to press a hidden button.

There’s a momentary hum from the stairs which soon fades. Rythian boggles at the stairs. If he’d tried teleporting through  _ that _ , he’d have been incinerated in a flash.

“Put me back in the closet,” He hisses out of the corner of his mouth at Ravs, slumping downwards.

Shrugging, Ravs obliges Sherlock. There’s another feigned bout of kicking and screaming from Sherlock. Before Ravs closes the closet door, he inquires, “Will you be alright in there? You won’t get thirsty or bored?”

Sherlock digistructs an ECHO device, a thermos (also patterned with multiple sided dice) and boxed lunch. “I’ll be alright.” He flashes a nervous grin that’s directed at Ravs rather than at Teep and Rythian (who may as well be invisible). “You just go and save the day, while I just root for you from inside here.”

“Can do, and I’ll be back for your number later,” Ravs bids, winking at him. He gently closes the door, dusting his hands off. He glances at Teep as the three of them take the stairs.

Teep’s laughing. Ravs can tell because Teep has a hand up to their mouth, or where their mouth would be, shoulders shaking in complete silence.

“Alright, what’s so funny?” Rythian asks Teep; this doesn’t seem like a laughing matter.

“First time’s anybody ever been so happy to go back into the closet,” Teep signs.

The flights of stairs lead upward until they reach the top floor. Ravs consults Daltos’ message for instructions on how they should proceed. Again, the provided directions are correct. At this point, Rythian supposes that he should stop holding it against Daltos. 

Ravs and Rythian take up positions on either side of the door, the latter waving Teep forward. This way, Teep enters the office first. This seemed like Teep’s usual environment. Teep briefly tests the door for traps, concluding that there’s none. They enter the office, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Teep quickly sweeps the room, eventually declaring it to be clear of any hidden threats. Rythian and Ravs join them. Rythian heads right for the desk to ransack it.

“Fancy place he’s got here,” Ravs marvels, flicking a miniature balancing sculpture on the desk. It begins to click and clink, tiny pieces falling into place as it begins to rotate.

“Stop admiring his stuff, he’s the enemy,” Rythian says, opening up a drawer. 

The drawer’s full of mangled stress balls, pens and pencils driven through the cores to protrude out the other side like strange, pointier pincushions. He shifts through them, finding nothing of interest. The drawer’s slammed shut.

“Hey, people are allowed to have good taste in decor.” Ravs is checking out the miniature fridge, helping himself to a bottle of rakk ale. He smacks his lips, grimacing. “Shit, this stuff is  _ strong. _ ”

“Stop helping yourself to his booze as well!”

“Lighten up, will you?” Ravs edges past him to check out the view of Opportunity, the bottle still in hand. “Nice view too.” Now he’s just providing inane commentary to annoy Rythian on purpose.

“Teep, come here and help me look for the laptop,” Rythian hisses, glancing up to see Teep standing in front of a trophy case. That’d explain where they’ve been for the past two minutes, being distracted like Ravs is.

“Do you know what this is?” Teep signs, pointing to the item on display. It’s a sniper rifle, Altas made. They toss their head at it, appearing agitated. “I almost bought this years ago.” 

Right, Rythian’s completely forgotten that Teep had a serious eye for antique or legendary weapons; he’s never seen their whole collection. 

It’s bound to exist _ somewhere _ though, with how they snapped up anything with so much as a hint of orange to it. While it’d be nice to own a legendary, he doesn’t get why they hunted so persistently for them. Well, there’s worse hobbies they could pursue.

“Leave it, it’s not yours.” Rythian upends another desk drawer, sending a still sealed box of cigars tumbling under the desk and a bunch of empty Hyperion style envelopes to flutter onto the carpet. A dirt block of a paperweight gets kicked aside, skidding to a halt underneath a chair.

Teep raises their hand. He teleports over to Teep, grabbing their hand before they can smash the glass. Papers swirl in his wake (and he’s a the tiniest bit smug for making it look cool).

“I want it.” Teep shakes off Rythian, raising their other hand- Rythian braces for shattering glass. Instead, he cracks his eyes open to see Teep lightly running their hand over the glass.

A Ravs who’s well on his way to inebriation land joins Teep in eyeing up the items in the display cabinet. “That shield!” He points, eyes widening. “Is that what I  _ think _ it is?”

“It’s bandit made,” Rythian disdains, forgetting Ravs’ origin.

“No, no, no, you don’t get it, look at the colour!” Ravs insists excitedly. Rythian enters his HUD, enabling the overlay displaying item quality; normally, he kept the overlay off to avoid becoming distracted during a firefight.

The colour of it doesn’t quite stand out to him like orange does. A hot pink glows around the shield propped up on a gold stand.

He stares at Ravs, still not getting it. “It’s nothing special to me-” 

Ravs seizes him by the shoulders. “That  _ shield  _ came from one of the biggest battles I’d ever fought in years...” He proceeds to lay out the gist of the battle, his accent slipping as he delivers a historical crash course on one of the bloodiest bandit battles ever fought on the east coast.

As one of the more notorious participants, Ravs had been gutted to learn post-battle that the shield had gone missing, presumably carried off by a loot hungry Rat to be traded or sold.

And now it’s miraculously turned up here, waiting to be claimed.

“Us bandits would start a war against Opportunity to get a hold of this,” Ravs says, in a hushed tone he reserves for when he’s genuinely surprise (a rare occurrence). “I wonder how it got into Sjin’s possession. So, Teep, how do we get those goods?”

“Hold on, I’m still figuring out this cabinet,” Teep impatiently signs. “There’s no traps or anything. Might be an alarm though. If so, I got it.” They lean down, reaching behind all the glass to turn off the alarm. “Too bad Sjin didn’t think to protect his shit more extensively.” They pop the cabinet’s latch open, tossing the shield to Ravs before claiming the Atlas sniper rifle.

“Thank you,” Ravs says, clipping the shield on. Blue surrounds his frame. His old shield vanishes in thin air into wherever his inventory’s located. “Pun-chee, met your new papa…” It’s the happiest Rythian’s ever seen him, next to the reunion with Nilesy.

Teep’s inspecting Cyclops, holding it up to their goggles. “Needs a clean, but should still be operational, as per Atlas quality,” They conclude, storing the sniper rifle in their inventory. There’s a pleased air surrounding the way in which they did so.

“You done looting?” Rythian snaps at the two, feeling irritable because they hadn’t come here to loot, they’d come here to grab a laptop. The expectation had been that they’d all be back in Sanctuary Hole at this point, with the laptop in their possession.

At this rate, Ravs and Teep will insist on turning the place upside-down for other trophies to take home. Their Vault Hunter looting tendencies have surfaced again at the worst possible time.

Not looking particularly sorry for their actions, Ravs and Teep can now assist in rifling through the rest of Sjin’s desk. The laptop’s been tucked into an alcove underneath a bunch of paperwork. A hidden stash of money’s divided up between the two; Rythian waves away the cash, pretending not to notice where Ravs stores his.

“Can you have a look at it, Teep? You’re better at this sort of thing than we are.” Rythian’s grasp of technology is better than basic, not reaching the advanced level that Xephos and a few others sat at. Hey, he’s done pretty well over the years even with that self imposed handicap.

> I’ll see what I can do.

> If it’s locked to Sjin’s biosignature, we’re better off hitting up Flax for this.

Teep tugs the laptop out of its hiding place, wheeling Sjin’s chair over to sit down on it. The laptop’s turned on. The holoscreen flips up from the keyboard, flashing through a spectrum of calming blues as it boots up. 

Incredibly, the laptop’s not locked.

“That’s pretty,” Ravs admires, as someone who’s used to tapping away on less transparent keyboard. He leans on the back of the chair; Rythian swears that he’s pinched another bottle of rakk ale from the fridge when he wasn’t watching.

“Mine’s better than this, and it’s an outdated piece of shit,” Teep idly comments. Neither Ravs or Rythian have ever seen said laptop, so the two remain silent.

Ignoring the zoomed in image of the diamond cat wanting a belly rub that’s Sjin’s wallpaper, Teep begins to search through files, fingers flying over the keys.

“Grab all the cat pictures for Nilesy, would you?” Ravs requests, aiming the bottle cap he’s pried off at the bin in the corner. He takes a shot, and promptly misses. The cap bounces off to end up next to a lost board game piece under another chair.

Teep shrugs, collecting the whole lot and sending it off with a few keystrokes. Rythian gives up on trying to stop his friends from wasting time. Sooner or later, the two will get back to the job at hand of their own accord.

“Hey, what’s in there?” Ravs points to a folder marked ‘ANGEL SATELLITE SURVEILLANCE IMAGES’. Teep clicks on it.

A bunch of folders pop up, the laptop screen expanding to accommodate all of them. There’s over twenty folders, each meticulously coded with numbers, phrases or words. It’s hard to tell what the contents of each folder based on the folder’s name alone.

“Look at ‘Desirable Number One’, and why do I feel the need to know who is it?” Rythian mutters. He eyes Ravs. Ravs returns his look, looking perplexed as to why Rythian would think it’s him.

> It can’t be Ravs, who’d want a picture of his ugly mug?

Ravs calmly jostles the back of the chair, causing Teep’s knee to slam into the desk’s underside. Rythian almost teleports at the hideous thud of bone hitting wood, wincing; that must have  _ hurt.  _ Without so much as a flinch, Teep turns in the chair to stare at Ravs.

“That’s enough,” Rythian exasperatedly says before they brawl, leaning over to open the folder himself with a simple tap to the keyboard.

‘Desirable Number One’ is neither Ravs, Rythian or anybody else who they’d thought of.

The potential fight averted, Teep returns to the laptop. Ravs resumes leaning on the back of the chair, sipping from the rakk ale every few seconds or so.

“Didn’t he go missing a while back?” Ravs asks as Teep scrolls through image after image of a suited, grey skinned man attending a number of functions. “There was a great big hubbub all over the radio few months back, and they couldn’t find the guy even with the reward being offered.”

> Who cares, I’m going back to look at the other folders.

Teep exits the folder, clicking on another. It’s a folder containing purely Rythian photos, each of them out of focus, blurry or hidden by shadows, foliage, nature or landmarks.

“These photos are all terrible!” Rythian exclaims. If secondhand embarrassment never existed before from photos taken by another person, it does now.

Ravs begins to laugh at Rythian’s chagrin. “No wonder why Sjin had trouble finding you! He didn’t even know what you looked like!”

“I look fine, thank you!” Rythian argues, aiming to distract Ravs and Teep from spotting the lone, proper photo hiding at the very bottom (wow, he’s so  _ young _ in that one, not yet scarred by the horrors of his discoveries).

“Oh, I’m not disagreeing that you look mighty fine,” Ravs flirts. Rythian tries to recall what Teep had said about Ravs stopping if he’s told to.

> Stop flirting behind me, and look at this.

Teep snaps their fingers, pointing at the screen. They’d left the folder (to Rythian’s relief) to open another.

> I thought I asked Flax to get rid of this.

In Teep’s folder, there’s a single image: their wanted poster. The photo’s an exact copy of the one Saberial had shown Rythian. Another click reveals that Ravs’ own wanted poster is on file too, along with a whole slew that look as if they’ve been snapped by hidden paparazzi. The counter at the bottom reads ‘675 total shots’.

When Teep forces the photographs into chronological order, Ravs frowns. “Hey, that photo was taken a few months after I arrived on Pandora.”

“Really?” Rythian stares at the one he’s pointing at. It  _ is _ Ravs, looking a decade younger, and currently breaking someone’s nose in the Dahl compound holding him prisoner. “Can I, uh, get a copy of that one?” Teep turns their head to regard him with what he thinks is amusement. “Look, it’s for Nilesy,” He lies. If he can’t beat them, then join them.

> Liar.

“It’s alright Rythian, I want a copy of all these to send to my mam. She’d love it, what with not having any pictures of me after I got shipped here,” Ravs consoles. “I just got to go through all these later to pick out all the unflattering ones beforehand.”

“You don’t tell Zoeya about this,” Rythian remembers to say to Teep (who supposedly has multiple videos of several of his less than stellar moments in life).

> Yeah, whatever.

> There you go, now you can put it in a locket so you can kiss it before you go to bed.

Rythian kicks the back of Teep’s chair. Teep rolls the chair backwards, nearly running over his boot in revenge. Ravs stretches out a hand to catch the chair, shoving it back (Teep included) into place at the desk.

> Whee.

> Almost everyone we know is on here.

“These are either Sjin’s collection of photos or someone else’s,” Rythian hypotheses ten minutes later. “It’s not easy keeping track of over thirty people.”

“Hey, Teep, can you open that one?” Ravs jabs at the one marked ‘DEAD TO ME’. Teep obliges. “Send that whole lot to Zylus, would you?” Teep also obliges on that front.

“You two are terrible friends,” Rythian blandly states, having a hunch at what they’re up to, and making no move to stop them. No matter what he does, the outcome will be the same.

“Don’t be silly, he’ll love these photos!” Ravs leans over Teep’s shoulder. “Okay, can you send _that_ _one_ to Daltos? Use my name, and don’t look so worried, he won’t break my nose again the next time we meet. Well, he can try but I’m ready for that.”

A message from Zylus pops up. Teep shares it with the other two, who start to lose it.

> WHAT DID YOU JUST SEND ME

> BECAUSE I OPENED THE FOLDER IN FRONT OF DALTOS BY ACCIDENT WHEN SETTING UP A NEW MONITOR

“Ask him what Daltos said,” Ravs whispers, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. He leaves the rakk ale bottle on top of a coaster.

> HE ASKED IF I WAS ‘OBSESSED, MUCH?’ AND WALKED OUT WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD

> THANKS A LOT YOU THREE

> I’M NEVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO EXPLAIN THIS TO HIM

> lol, get wrecked

“Teep!” Rythian’s too busy laughing to sound properly admonishing.

> Fucking finally, here’s all the plans.

> There’s too much shit in here.

> Most of it’s paperwork.

“Let’s go, we’ve spent too much time here already.” Rythian takes his hand off the chair, wanting to teleport to save on walking back downstairs.

“Belay that, we got incoming company, three of them, all armed.” With an abrupt motion, Teep shoves away from the desk, snatching up the laptop to fold it shut. It’s tossed it to Ravs.

Ravs automatically catches it, tucking it under one arm. The office chair’s knocked to the floor as Rythian, Teep and Ravs draw guns on the three people blocking the doorway out of Sjin’s office. Rythian aims his shotgun at the figure in front.

“Fun’s over, so hand over the laptop,” Trottimus demands, his three surveyors fanning out to float up to the ceiling. Their engines upset the rest of the paperwork on the desk, scattering it to the floor.

The surveyor’s blue eyes train on the three, a blue bolt of electricity bouncing between the wings of two. The third links a red healing beam to Trottimus, all the bruises, marks and scratches on his face being healed before their very eyes. He hoists the Maliwan SMG higher so that the sights rest on Rythian’s head.

“And nobody gets hurt,” Alsmiffy snarls, his waspish voice distorted through the large crack on his gas mask. A hint of ginger can be seen beneath it. A hand’s held up, the vent in his palm filling the room with the smell of gas, ready to be ignited any second.

“Nobody except you, maybe,” Ross growls, already partially transformed to bare a mouthful of pointed teeth. His claws are absently shredding the carpet as he’s forced to stoop to fit in through the doorway. A sleek metal collar’s wrapped around his neck; his undertone’s tinged with mild discomfort. Otherwise, yellow eyes glare at the three.

The six stare down one another, none of them willing to yield. All Rythian knows is that this is going to be exceptionally messy, one way or another. It’ll be over his dead body that he’ll let that laptop fall into the wrong hands.

\--

Downstairs (still hiding in the closet), Sherlock huddles into the corner of the closet. The tomato sauce stain’ll wash out (still ruined a decent suit though). As he logs onto the BnB chat, he idly wonders if he should go and retrieve Sjin’s diamond cat before all the fighting can begin. He’s supposed to be catsitting while working; the Vault Hunters who'd first marched him in here must have scared her off.

Nah, she’s a smart cat. Hopefully she won’t run afoul of the six Vault Hunters having a showdown upstairs. Besides, the building’s got plenty of hiding spaces for a sneaky specimen like her. He should also probably leave a message for Sips, but bugger that, his resignation letter’s far more important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (you break it, you buy it.)
> 
> thank you to teagstime for being an amazing listener, and to siins for encouraging this whole mess of an au to become what it currently is.
> 
> curiously, how many of you thought that lalna wouldn’t (or would) betray rythian? it was interesting to write a chapter mostly based around rythian’s perspective. normally, i try to rotate through all the characters in one.given the events of the previous chapter, two out of the four main characters aren’t present.
> 
> i initially had trouble planning out the chronology of chapters eleven and twelve, since i had to split up will and nanosounds from rythian and lalna. eventually, i opted to go for will and nanosounds’ arcs first. it worked out well, story wise and for pacing, given that most of it was action packed. chapter twelve, in comparison, is relatively slow at the start to balance out that one.
> 
> confused about the timeline? No worries, the events happen in this order:
> 
> * lalna encounters sjin at the mining rig after his visit to elpis (as described in chapter ten)  
> 
> * nanosounds and will head off to hecate to deal with nano’s mother and eventually return to pandora (as in chapter eleven)  
> 
> * sjin tampers with will and nanosounds’ return to pandora, delaying while sjin waits for lalna to get the vault key from rythian  
> 
> * during this period, rythian and lalna attend trivia night at the crooked caber (chapter twelve)  
> 
> * several weeks later (though they didn’t realise it), will and nano return to pandora. they begin their journey back through the dust just prior to lalna betraying rythian (chapter eleven and chapter twelve)  
> 
> * lalna betrays rythian  
> 
> * rythian departs for opportunity with ravs and teep
> 
> there’s a particularly epic doodle regarding rythian’s scars that siins did for this chapter, as per the links at the end of this ramble. teep also has their own scarring; while not much of it was mentioned or delved into here (but where exactly it exists on their face is briefly mentioned), it’ll be covered in ‘a bullet with your name on it’. the manner in which rythian got his own scars will be in that fic too.
> 
> and now for some bad news: ‘tlvh’ is going on another break. how long for, i can’t say. there are several (at least three to four) fics that i plan on working on next year.
> 
> there’s the rest of ‘a bullet with your name on it’ and the final chapter of ‘what’s yours is ours’. those two fics will be the main priority, given that they contain critical pieces to fill in plot and character backstories (including those who haven’t had their chance to shine just yet).
> 
> i am excited however, to tell you that there’ll be two sequel fics to existing ones in the works as well! the first is ‘i.o.u.: one ticket home’, the sequel piece to ‘i.o.u.: one new arm’, a fic focusing on where lalna goes after ‘tlvh’ chapter twelve.
> 
> the second is ‘let’s leave this small town and everything behind’. that will center on zylus and daltos after the events of ‘tlvh’ chapter twelve which begins to wrap up their character arcs. the rest will pick up in ‘tlvh’ and other ‘btb’ fic, whenever they’re updated.
> 
> a tentative third piece (which isn’t named yet) follows arsenal after chapter seven of ‘tlvh’ happened. it includes minty’s rise to power on concordia. this fic also serves as a backstory for this au’s known bandits (save for parvis, parvis and co hadn’t gotten arrested yet). this third piece also ties into another fic, but which one, i can’t say due to spoilers.
> 
> that’s about it for this ramble. thank you very much for reading, and the doodles (as always, done by the mindblowing siins) are posted over [here](http://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/borderlandscast%3A-the-last-vault-hunter).


	13. Nothing Ventured, Nothing Pained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plenty of bang bangs and punchy punches galore in this chapter! not a lot of things to beware of, so you can just start reading!

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –  
Saberial: Panda, where are you?  
HybridPanda: Yeah? I’m back from the mining rig.  
Saberial: Can I get you to drop by super quick so you can give me your ship ID tag?  
HybridPanda: Why can’t you use yours?  
Saberial: Sjin blocked mine for some reason.  
HybridPanda: Why? Didn’t you get a card from him?  
Saberial: Well, you see, lots of things happened and–  
HybridPanda: Sis? It’s okay to admit you lost it. Sometimes it happens.  
Saberial: Shut up, I didn’t lose it!  
HybridPanda: Why do you need it?  
Saberial: I’m sneaking into Opportunity to help my girlfriend’s friends.  
HybridPanda: Do you need my help?  
Saberial: It’ll be fine! You just rest up that leg of yours.  
HybridPanda: Okay. Be careful, you never know what’s going on in that guy’s inflated head.  
Saberial: Don’t go running off and doing anything stupid, you hear?  
HybridPanda: Who do you take me for, an idiot?  
Saberial: Weeeelll.  
HybridPanda: No big sister taunts!  
– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

In Sjin’s office, Rythian regards Trottimus, Ross and Alsmiffy with visible contempt. The disastrous role these three played in screwing over Sanctuary Hole out of a power core’s not something he forgot or forgave. It wasn’t his town at stake, but it was Ravs’, and Ravs clearly still remembers the trio.

Without a power core plugged into the shield station, Sanctuary Hole’s future became clouded. Enemy bandits could bomb it any time. Ravs and the Vault Hunters wasted no time in hunting down another power core, finding two to plug in. Even if no bombardment occurred in the tense weeks following, the wise move still benefitted Sanctuary Hole.

He’d also trusted the trio in letting them enter his town under the pretense of helping out Turpster. Ravs prides himself as an excellent judge of character, so his bone to pick is also personal.

Ravs looks far too ready to snap necks and break bones. A fierce fire burns in his eyes. That kind of fire will only be quelled once he’s surrounded by the bodies of his enemies. His shotgun’s pointed at Trottimus’ face, fingers ready on the trigger. Ravs is keeping his berserker’s destructive temper using the finest control Rythian’s seen of him yet.

Trottimus’ face is pinched in concentration. One surveyor drifts behind him. Its blue beam retracts once it’s done recharging his shield. The engine kicks up a whirlwind that kicks loose papers under the desk and chairs. The forearm sized machine isn’t built for indoors combat; how it’ll perform in the confines of this setting will be interesting.

Rythian hasn’t personally encountered Trottimus before in a fight, though he’d heard a bit from his fellow Vault Hunters. Wherever Will is right now, Rythian mentally sends his thanks for the helpful bit of information. He also hopes that Nanosounds is with him, and is okay too.

To Trottimus’ left is Alsmiffy. Alsmiffy is impatiently bouncing a gauntlet up and down. Flames occasionally spurt from the palm, dissipating in the air. It’s not difficult to guess what his chosen talent is. Fighting him in close combat without a shield’s going to end catastrophically, so Rythian will have to avoid him as much as possible.

On Trottimus’ right is Ross. Ross is midway to a full transformation, a few of his curling, long, sharp claws tearing messy strips out of the dark blue carpet. He’s emitting a threatening growl that makes a strange, primal instinct inside Rythian respond to the challenge, raising its hackles.

They’re all too busy to risk moving, gauging one another for strengths to beware of and weaknesses to exploit. Sweat prickles the back of Rythian’s head. The tension’s getting to all of them. Nobody can look away, anticipating movement.

Teep starts to twirl their pistol in one hand. It’s not one of their regular pistols. The distinctive black and yellow stripes on the barrel makes one of Rythian’s distant, faded memories twitch in its sleep. He doesn’t remember the gun’s name. The motion causes the trio’s guns to snap to them. Teep acts unfazed.

“We ain’t gonna tell you fucks again,” Alsmiffy softly warns, a vicious underbite marking his words. “Hand over that laptop, and maybe we’ll just throw you out of the window rather than smash your faces against it.”

Ravs hoists the laptop against him, his arm protectively curling around it. “Sorry, it’s finders keepers.” His fingers tense atop the shotgun’s trigger. ”Now if you’d just kindly fucking step aside? We have a Vault to track down.”

“Looks like Mister Nice Guy’s done playing around,” Alsmiffy observes, hands flaring wide. The noisy hiss of gas fills the room. Despite the high ceiling, six people on edge crammed in together makes it seem boxed in.

“I stopped playing nice when you stole the power core,” Ravs notes. A dangerous grin curves across his face.

“Business is business,” Trottimus dismisses. Whatever previous infatuation he’d had for Ravs is gone. A hardness to his eyes makes them appear as black as charred ash.

“Nothing personal,” Ravs quotes. His eyes flick towards Teep and back to Trottimus.

Teep stops twirling the pistol to fire it at the trio. Rythian belatedly remembers that Teep owns ‘Harold’, a legendary with a spread shot ability. The shots fan across the room, puncturing glass, the door and whatever else it meets.

Alsmiffy and Ross dive out of the way. Ross drags a startled Trottimus with him by the back of the coat, nearly shredding the lab coat with his claws. The surveyors evade by retreating to the ceilng.

Teep reloads, dodging a fireball. The fireball slams into the opened trophy case, sending glass flying. Ravs steps behind Rythian, protecting him from the worst of it.

“Alright, let’s do this the hard way then!” Trottimus directs a surveyor towards Teep. It jerks in midair, diving. The other two surveyors join it, an electric field crackling between the three. Teep lifts up their pistol.

In that opening, Rythian depawns his rifle. He slaps Teep and Ravs on the shoulders, teleporting the two with him to the stairs.

“You couldn’t have teleported us out of here?” Ravs observes, checking that the laptop’s fine. Teep gives Rythian a look for depriving them of another kill.

“Look, I panicked!” Rythian retorts. “I didn’t want to take us through the death field just in case Sherlock had it turned on for the rest of the building!”

“Fair enough,” Ravs starts to say. He stops, distracted by tearing carpet and heavy sounds heading for the three of them.

Ross springs, claws outstretched to shred him. Ravs meets the attack with a shotgun blast to the face. Ross yelps as it slams into his shield. Ravs intercepts the attempted swipe with his arm, letting the nails drag over his own shield to keep the laptop safe.

Grimacing, he promptly punches Ross in the face. Ross shrugs it off, jaws splitting to try biting Ravs. With a look of ‘oh shit’ on his face, Ravs fires the shotgun into Ross’ chest. Ross gets shoved back a metre, shrugging that off as well.

Teep jabs Rythian in the side, preparing for a second threat. Alsmiffy dodges past Ross’ massive form, throwing up a wall of fire at the stairs. “You like it hot, so here’s hot!”

“Teep!” Ravs lobs the laptop into the air. For that, Ross knocks him into a wall. Teep snatches the laptop, keeping it to their chest. They run straight at the wall of fire pouring from Alsmiffy’s hands.

“Oi! If you keep going, you’ll burn!” Showing no signs of hearing Alsmiffy, Teep continues sprinting at literal death, despawning their gun.

Trottimus skids into the hallway from the ruined office, followed by the three bobbing surveyors. “Mind the laptop!” He screams.

“Yeah, yeah!” Alsmiffy says, bringing a palm up. The wall decreases in size as another pops up in front of Teep. Teep just dodges it by leaping over it, treating it as nothing more than a fence.

The heat makes Rythian teleport to Trottimus. Teep backhands Alsmiffy across the face, sending him spinning into a picture of a grey-skinned man. Teep dives right through the wall of fire. Their shield whines, a quarter of it draining. The fire mends the outline of the shape passing through it.

Alsmiffy extinguishes the fire. His cursing could have rivalled Ravs’ own whenever Ravs finds a ruined batch of moonshine that skags got into.

“After them!” Trottimus orders.

“Nope!” Rythian teleports Trottimus and Ross back into Sjin’s demolished office.

Alsmiffy moved at the last second, turning to roast Rythian from afar. Ravs charges to knock him aside–Alsmiffy repels him with a burst of foul smelling gas. He ignites it with sweeping, upwards motion. Ravs grunts, backing off to spare the last of his shield.

Rythian lifts a hand to teleport Alsmiffy. With a guiding hand, Alsmiffy directs the fire towards him, interrupting the move. Swearing, Rythian joins Ravs. There’s a limit to Alsmiffy’s fire, which barely extends past a few metres. Aware of it, Alsmiffy pushes it forward, trying to trap the two.

Cracking wood makes Ravs and Rythian glance towards the doorway. The approaching fire nearly disguised the sounds.

Alarmed, Rythian leaves Ravs alone to deal with Alsmiffy. In the decimated floor of Sjin’s office is a Ross sized hole. A single surveyor hovering above it ambushes Rythian. It fires, hitting him in the chest with an electrical bolt.

Rythian crumples, his body and hands seizing up. It’s less intense than the prolonged fit he’d endured back at the Southern Shelf. The electricity still smarts though, rendering him immobile for a few seconds. The surveyor backflips, about to repeat the move as its eye brightens with a cold blue light.

Ravs barges in. He fires his shotgun at the surveyor, clipping its wing. It crashes into the upturned mahogany desk, leaping sparks setting it on fire. Alerted by the beep of a hidden fire alarm, ceiling sprinklers smother the blaze with directed squirts of water. Steam hisses, clouding Rythian’s vision.

Without being asked, Ravs hands Rythian his shotgun. He lifts him up, resting him against a shoulder. Together, he and Rythian descend through the hole. The remains of a smashed coffee table creaks underfoot.

Two seconds later, an enormous inferno roars through the office. The shockwave sends a heat wave coursing downwards over Ravs and Rythian. The fire alarm wheezes a half-hearted whistle before dying for good. Bits of burnt wood, singed carpet and delicate flakes of what used to be office furniture snow upon the two’s heads.

As abruptly as it began, it ceases. An unnerving silence almost forms, kept at bay by his and Ravs’ hard breathing. Rythian keeps his head down, the last of the body thorns making him useless easing. Ravs takes back his shotgun, despawning it.

“Come back, I’m having too much fun!” Alsmiffy jeers. Rythian tilts his head back to see him collect the downed surveyor. It’s crushed in one hand, pieces falling to one side. He leans over the hole in the floor, extending an open palm. The vent in it expels invisible gas.

“Go!” Staring down Alsmiffy, Ravs shoves Rythian forward. It saves Rythian at the cost of letting himself get engulfed.

“Ravs!” Rythian shouts. His feet try to take him away. His brain wants to stay and help.

“Go find Teep!” Ravs bellows over the din. His shield’s alternating between existing and not existing, white and blue flickering.

Fighting the downpour of hungry, vicious flames, he grabs a lounge chair. Like it weighs nothing, it’s hurled with uncanny precision. Alsmiffy shrieks when the chair (like possessed wood trying to escape fire) collides with his face.

Rythian travels downstairs. Picking his entrance and exit points happens without conscious thought. He ignores the rules of physics to the point of bypassing them entirely. The teleporter’s basically his last safety net (not that he needs one with how easy the instinct’s become).

Trottimus and Ross don’t have the advantage of a skip button like Rythian does, impeded by the winding layout of each office floor.

Teep’s using their natural ability to stay in the lead, beyond grabbing distance. How they’ve kept up this pace the entire time eludes Rythian, and also reminds him that he’s not in as good shape as they are.

Corners oppose speed. He maintains his momentum by skipping them, following a mark trail of destruction through each floor and down the stairwell to the one beneath. He nearly gets turned around twice, relying on his gut feeling to find that trail again.

Rythian estimates that all of them moved a few floors down from Sjin’s top-floor office, when the tail end of an argument is upon him. Heartened by this, he surges onward.

“Ross, you go first this time!” Trottimus snaps, slamming into the stairwell’s walls and a panting Ross. “You keep stepping on my heels!” The distant snap of a door slamming echoes.

“Fine, fine!” Ross growls, his deep, harried voice making the air curdle.

An innocent door falls victim to brute strength, opening to a corridor. It’s home to another set of offices. Why one building needs so many identical cubicles (almost all of them depressingly empty) is the last question on Rythian’s mind.

Using the bickering as cover, Rythian sneaks closer. The straight corridor makes it easier. Awaiting him is the gleaming eye of a surveyor, its eye already charged. He’s not falling for the same trick twice.

With a slash of his hand, he teleports it in front of Trottimus. Trottimus exclaims as his surveyor lets loose the deadly bolt, “Helga, no!”

A painful, satisfying thud lets Rythian know that the ruse was successful. Ross chuckles. He actually screams as Ravs explodes through the ceiling. Ravs lands in front of Ross, straightening up from a crouch. Rythian coughs, waving dust and debris away. His scarf’s not much help, pooling around his neck so he’d get enough air during the chase.

Ravs tosses his head back, a hand fixing his messy hair. He faces Ross with all the casualness of someone who’s done playing around. “Need some help with that collar of yours?”

Trottimus picks himself up off the floor. He haughtily snaps at Ravs, “Not unless you know how to get it off–”

“I definitely know how to get lots of things off,” Ravs says, winking.

“Without getting Trott’s panties in a twist! This one’s special!” Ross explains, with difficulty. Each word’s muffled like it has to be wrested from deep within Ross’ chest, and is funneled through a creature’s howling voicebox before leaving him.

Talking doesn’t suit his mangled mouth; far too many teeth are crammed into his bone crushing jaws. Those teeth get bared at Ravs. Each tooth is longer than Rythian’s entire hand, as thick as a wedding band.

“No can do. After all, we’re doing this the hard way.” Ravs drops into a boxer’s ready stance, fists raised and legs apart.

Back bristling, Ross charges. Trottimus sprints past the two, fleeing the scene. Ravs catches Ross’ jaws with both hands, grunting as he’s pushed along the floor. Bracing against Ross, Ravs maneuvers his hands to snap Ross’ jaws together–with a rousing shout, he swings Ross by the trapped muzzle over one shoulder. Ross crashes onto the floor, head-first. His resulting, humiliated howl makes Rythian and Trottimus cover their ears.

Ravs is fine dealing with Ross. At this point, Rythian concludes that he’ll just be in the way.

He snaps his mouth shut, glancing around for Teep. His radar notes that Teep’s close by. Hoping that the death field’s not active between all the floors closer to ground level, Rythian moves himself downstairs. It’s not, so he’s spared a horrible fate.

The teleport placed him inside a containment area. It’s as long as a ritual hallway from an Eridian ruin. Concordia’s plaza would comfortably fit inside. Shelves upon shelves hold a number of cubes. He can’t help running his eyes over the nearest one.

It’s a cube of dirt sealed within thick, transparent glass. A pedestal crafted of metal bears it. The one he’s looking at is labeled with a code, and the next, and the next, in numerical order. Well, SipsCo. is a mining company. He doesn’t know when it became a company investing in the destruction of the known universe. Somebody still has to pay, and Sjin’s the most convenient target.

The other explanations too weird to believe. Somebody can’t have been collecting dirt samples from all over Pandora just for the fun of it.

A door slams. Hurried footsteps echo around the shelves. Pushing those thoughts aside, Rythian pinpoints the direction of the source. Dropping into a crouch, he moves towards it, using the shelves as cover. All of the light’s concentrated on one hallway splitting the room in half.

His estimate places him directly in Trottimus’ path. Ten seconds later, Trottimus careens past, taking no notice of the ambush lurking next to him.

The surveyor keeps flying as its master trips, grabbed by the back of the lab coat. “Ross! You done dealing with–” Trottimus’ head whips around, his words dying mid sentence. He punches Rythian in the face. Despite Trottimus’ appearance and build, the punch is a solid one.

Denied a punch of his own, Rythian’s head snaps back. Cubes bunny hop in their housing. They settle for hardly a second when Trottimus shoves Rythian against the nearest shelf. Trottimus slams the butt of his Maliwan SMG into Rythian’s chest. The gun then hits the back of Rythian’s head when he bows against his will, sending him crashing to the floor.

The surveyor makes a tight turn to swing back to its master, closing in by the second.

Rythian flips onto his back. Trottimus lands on him, a sharp knee jabbing into his solar plexus. Rythian borrows a trick of Teep’s, using Trottimus’ weight against him. A shelf has all of its cubes jumbled. The surveyor passes over Trottimus’ head.

The reflex dumps him on Trottimus’ other side. Rythian draws a rifle, intending on firing it into Trottimus’ exposed flank. Trottimus swings the SMG up. From the barrel bursts not bullets, but another surveyor.

It headbutts him in the chest, bypassing the rifle entirely. Gasping as it knocks his lungs empty, Rythian retreats to a safe distance in a neighboring workrooom. His back stings, stitches tugging a helpful warning not to overdo it.

A part of him is irritated that he hasn’t taken down Trottimus yet. Is this really the extent of his abilities? Something inside of him yearns for more power. All he needs to do is hand over the reins to it.

Trottimus laughs, smug and superior all at once. “Did you think I’d be that stupid to let all my surveyors out at once?” He crows.

Crouching behind a desk, Rythian grits his teeth. His back’s aching, the new stitches tugging on his skin. Teep’s bound to have reached the ground floor by now, if they haven’t run into any other obstacles or problems. Their mark on the radar turns circles, indicating that they’re still navigating the stairs. The building doesn’t have lifts or else they’d be out of here already.

Irritated, Rythian moves around the desk, keeping low. The surveyors have the advantage here. He can’t ambush Trottimus with even one surveyor active. Is there a limit to how many times the machines could be digistructed? Alsmiffy destroyed one earlier by crushing it.

In the corner of his eye, Rythian spots movement. Fireballs flash past. Almost a green and brown blur, Teep vaults over the desks and the tops of the cubicles. They’re still holding onto the laptop. One stray fireball wrecks the tiles in the ceiling, sparks and cables flashing. The entire room seizes when a splash of shock infused gunfire joins it, trying to hit Teep.

“Alsmiffy! How’d you get down here?” Trottimus yells over the din.

“Took the maintenance lift!” Alsmiffy shouts. “All I had to do was follow your trail of destruction!”

“I didn’t think you were smart enough to do that!” Trottimus compliments.

“Oi! I’m smarter than Ross!” Alsmiffy retorts. He kicks a chair aside, moving through the cubicles to continue hurling fire with all the manic enthusiasm of a pyromaniac running loose in a paper factory.

Rythian teleports Teep to him. Teep lands against the wall beside him. They recognize him but not before they’re holding a pistol to his forehead.

“Stay still, their radar won’t pick us up if we do that.”

> i know

Teep’s a master at staying still; their chest heaves in and out. Running’s probably taking a toll on them.

“Why did you double back?” Rythian whispers.

> got intercepted and was about to lose the laptop to mister flamey over there

“I got an idea,” Rythian says, staring hard at Teep’s form and the laptop they’re holding.

> lets hear it

“We’re in an office, right?”

\--

Alsmiffy’s investigating the lower left corner when he spies a crouching figure try to sneak past him. He turns his gauntlets on them, shouting, “Ah-ha! Trott!”

Trottimus and Alsmiffy dash towards the figure. The figure in the dark green jacket spots the two, sprinting towards the doorway. Alsmiffy blasts several desks out of the way, skidding in their path.

They fumble the roll, ending up against the wall. A bulky object’s making the front of their jacket bulge. The hood covers their face.

Trottimus trains his SMG on them. “Hands up where we can see them!” He gleefully adds, “I’ve alway wanted to say that!”

“Don’t wet yourself, Trott, let’s get that laptop.” Alsmiffy leans down. “Don’t try anything stupid,” He warns the figure. The figure hunches lower. “Teep, is it? Good chase, but too bad, I win.” The figure doesn’t respond, keeping their hands in the air. Alsmiffy keeps one hand free, just in case. With his other hand, he unzips their jacket to expose a familiar metal corner. He tugs it out. It’s a laptop. “I got it!”

“Boot it up!” Trottimus urges. Alsmiffy sets it on the floor, turning it on. The two watch the screen fill with colour. Alsmiffy presses a key. The laptop flashes ‘please connect ECHO device’ at him.

“It’s empty!” He snarls. “Did you wipe it?” He turns his hand on the slumped figure; the figure’s no longer slumping.

“Teep, now!” Rythian throws off the hood, teleporting the surveyors following Trottimus out of the room.

Teep leaps from their hiding place. They slam an elbow against Trottimus’ stomach, chopping Alsmiffy across the knees. As the two reel, they crack Trottimus and Alsmiffy’s heads against one another’s. Groaning, Trottimus and Alsmiffy fall to the floor. Teep hands the real laptop to Rythian, helping him up. They also collect their other jacket, safely stashing it away.

“Surprise!” Trottimus flings a hand at Teep, digistructing a surveyor with a glowing red eye. Teep blandly stares at it; it explodes in their face.

Rythian’s teleported to the doorway, escaping the radius of the explosion. He has time to glance back. Teep’s standing in the smoke, balancing a knife on a fingertip.

Trottimus gapes at them. “That exploded! Right in your face!”

> ya it certainly did

“Why aren’t you dead?”

> my shields too strong

“That was my best explosion!” Trottimus despairs.

> you tried and thats what really matters in before i decapitate you

“Trott, move!” Alsmiffy snaps, getting back onto his feet. He plants himself between Teep and Trottimus. Each of his fingers curl. “Leave Trott alone, it’s just you and me. We’re gonna dance.”

Teep glances left, then right, at the wreckage surrounding them, then back at Alsmiffy. A cabinet topples, emptying a bunch of filing digistruct modules onto the floor. “You’re inviting me to slow dance in a burning room?”

“Yeah!” Alsmiffy answers, with vindictive emphasis.

> thats real fucking cute

“Alsmiffy, you can’t duel them!” Trottimus tries to grab Alsmiffy’s shoulder.

Alsmiffy impatiently shrugs him off. “Get Rythian! He’s got the laptop! I’ll hold Teep for as long as I can.” An urgency’s crept into his voice with the last, hissed sentence. “Ross is keeping Ravs busy. You’re the only one who can get that laptop back.” That appears to finally convince Trottimus, who takes a step back.

Teep flips the knife into one hand, before they slow clap. “Good speech, very touching.”

“Thanks,” Alsmiffy says, sounding a tad surprised.

“Look, why do you want the laptop so badly?” Rythian tries to ask.

“We’re not open to negotiation!” Trottimus rudely snaps.

“Besides, it’s none of your business!” Alsmiffy shouts, watching Teep for movement.

A distant commotion upstairs shakes the ceiling. A few loose tiles clatter onto the upturned furniture, light fixtures resettling into place.

\--

“I’ll only slash you once! And that’s for lying to Trott!” Ross offers. Silence meets him.

Rearing onto his back legs, he sniffs the air. The air smells of many things burning and smoke combined. Ravs’ scent weakens when he turns his head to the left, towards the other end of the room. It grows stronger, on his right. Ross changes direction in pursuit of it, loping around the furniture.

Ravs smells of dust, sweat and determination. It’s heady, sending a pleasant rush to Ross’ brain and senses.

Teep smells of patient murder (that’s about the only way Ross can describe it, in human terms), mixed with a bit of the shiny stuff that Trottimus liked to polish his surveyors with. Rythian reeks of dried blood, permanent sadness, and something fierce and powerful underneath all that, like hot metal pulled out of a forge. The three are nothing at all like Trottimus and Alsmiffy.

One day, he’ll ask the two what he smells like. Maybe when he reunites with them. That’s after he finishes off Ravs. That’s if he finds Ravs. Ravs is currently hiding. Ross flung him halfway across the room once Ravs had tried to get him in a headlock. Ignoring the traces of humans and one cat (trying to distract him with how close it is) smell, Ross continues.

Whatever he tried, he’d just learned that he can’t choke a werewolf. If Ross had a tail, it’d be wagging in anticipation. Ravs didn’t seem like the type to think a few moves ahead of his opponent. That suits Ross. Ross didn’t really go into the entire ‘think until his brain wants to commit suicide’ thing either.

“Half a slash? I’ll mind my claws!” Ross tries to bait Ravs. Ravs remains stubbornly silent. “You can’t run or hide from me! I can smell you!” He’s right on top of Ravs, which doesn’t make any sense. Sniffing the trolley, Ross upends it with a quick swipe. “Huh?”

A kilt lies on the floor. Ross wrinkles his nose, his investigating not ending there. Ravs can’t have vanished into thin air. Well, if he left his kilt behind, maybe he doesn’t want it. Ross extends a clawed hand, intending to scoop it up.

“But I can punch!” Ravs smashes into Ross from between two shelves. He brings both his joined hands down, right on top of Ross’ skull. Ross howls, flattening his ears against his head, brain ringing.

Roaring as he struggles to his feet, he snaps at Ravs. Ravs grunts as gnashing teeth find his leg. Ross swings his head, flinging Ravs into a water cooler. Glass and plastic shatter, crumpling.

Ravs lands on his hands and knees. Before Ravs can get up to swing back, Ross presses his teeth to the vulnerable skin on either side of Ravs’ neck.

“Move, and I chomp down,” Ross warns, his voice muffled. “Tell Rythian to hand the laptop over, or you get what’s called the ‘Bite.’”

“Can’t,” Ravs easily says. He doesn’t sound that panicked.

“Why?”

“I left my ECHO device with my other kilt,” Ravs apologetically explains.

“Oh, for–” Ross groans. His hot breath ghosts against Ravs’ neck.

“Can I just say that this is a very intimate position that you have me in?” Ravs observes. “Usually I top, but I don’t mind this either.”

“Usually I bite down at this point,” Ross says. “Monch.”

“Munch?”

“No, no, it’s monch.” Ross laughs, keeping his teeth well away from Ravs’ neck. “It’s a meme.” Globs of viscous saliva drip past, forming a slobber pool on the floor.

“Oh! You’d get along with Teep, they like memes too.” The conversational way Ravs is talking makes Ross suspicious. He keeps Ravs’ hands in full view.

\--

Teep regards Alsmiffy with all the air of a stone statue enduring a flock of bedraggled birds sitting on top of it. In turn, Alsmiffy glares at Teep. He’s like a starving cat watching those birds, tail angrily swishing from side to side as it waited for a single bird to fall.

“Come on, show me what you got!” Alsmiffy taunts, raising both palms to show off the towers curling out of the gauntlets.

A tilt of the head indicates that Teep is unfazed by the intimidation attempt. That incenses Alsmiffy; that’s his best display yet. It took two weeks to perfect. Okay, he’s up against a difficult opponent. Teep nearly gave him, Trott and Ross the slip back there.

Divine intervention can usually go and choke on his dick, but in this moment, Alsmiffy waggles the hook, angling for a bit of stray luck.

Teep hasn’t moved, staying put. They’re unarmed. Even so, they’re still a deadly force to be reckoned with.

At last, Teep raises an empty hand. Alsmiffy immediately raises his hands to intercept the bullets coming his way. Nothing happens. Teep falls back into their former stance. Irritated with himself for reacting so cautiously, Alsmiffy tells himself to stay calm; Teep’s obviously baiting him.

This happens another five times before Alsmiffy’s temper is foaming at the metaphorical mouth. If Ross were here, he’d be making a joke about how this is unprecedented. Alsmiffy grinds his teeth under his gas mask. This is boring. Boredom and Alsmiffy went together as well as skag piss and fermented wine.

After the sixth time, Alsmiffy’s had enough. “Fight me!” He snaps. “I’m not scared of dying!”

Teep extends a gloved hand in the shape of scissors.

> best two out of three

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Alsmiffy’s incredulous tone betrays his disbelief. He eyes Teep’s hand with double the suspicion.

> ya

“You can’t be serious!”

> im always serious but if youd rather duel me to the death

Teep moves to pull a gun on Alsmiffy. Alsmiffy’s blurting, “Wait, I’ll play!”

> what changed your mind

“I’m just saving my ammo.” Alsmiffy scowls (not that Teep can tell), loosely shaking his arms to get rid of the strain pressing against his arm muscles. Doing all that secret exercise in his spare time’s making itself known. Before, he wouldn’t have lasted this long (and he notes to save that line for later to throw at Trottimus).

He thrusts a gauntleted hand forward in a tight fist. Teep mimics him, albeit in a much more relaxed fashion. He’d have said that they don’t consider him a threat at all. If he loses, he’s attacking, shield or no shield. Breathing deeply, Alsmiffy flings his hand up, then down.

He casts paper. Two extended fingers greet it.

“Fuck!” Alsmiffy spits. “I lost–wait, what are we playing for?”

> time so rythian can get away

“You fucking bastard!” Alsmiffy takes a gigantic swing at Teep. He shouldn’t have let himself get distracted, his pride and fear doubleteaming him.

Teep grasps his hand, upsetting his balance by shifting their weight forward. He almost overbalances, flailing to compensate. Teep takes his arms and hands, dipping him low. Alsmiffy strikes a dancer’s pose, and then promptly blasts Teep in the face.

He’s dropped. He hits the floor on his back, scrambling to a safe distance. It’s a small matter of switching out his drained gas canisters for new ones while Teep’s distracted.

Teep’s a burning figure set alight. A few rough pats douses the flames under their hands, the shield protecting them from the worst of it.

He threw almost everything he had at them and they haven’t suffered a single scratch. Alsmiffy’s spine arches as he prepares for a proper fight.

> youre not very good at this dancing thing are you

He almost thinks that they seem upset.

\--

The surveyors are pros at dodging bullets. Rythian reloads, teleporting in and out of the paths of their lethal bolts. His problem’s that they can also change direction and attack. With three of them on him, he can’t move as freely as he likes. Trottimus is the fourth variable, forcing Rythian into open space.

With the laptop to protect, Rythian’s entirely on the defensive, and he’s running out of exploitable cover. Trottimus is depriving him of it, wrecking each with his own gunfire.

It’s taking almost everything of Rythian to keep moving, never staying in one place for too long.

Trottimus waves a free hand. The three surveyors spawn beside him, staying put rather than whizzing off. Rythian watches him and the machines. The machines merge, becoming a giant surveyor. Its eye flickers, filling with blue.

“Oh. I guess you can spawn them at will,” Rythian notes.

“I can,” Trottimus confirms, smirking. “Last chance. You hand over the laptop, or we take it off your bodies.”

“How about you can have it after?”

“Sure, let’s agree you can have it for two hours, and if you can’t find anything–” Trottimus begins, with a friendly smile. The smile’s abruptly replaced by disbelief. “Yeah, right, like we’d actually do that.” Rythian holds the laptop in his hands, offering it. Trottimus advances, hand stretching out. “Thank you, it’s been a–” The laptop’s gone. Trottimus stares at the empty space that’s Rythian’s hands. A kick to the shin downs Rythian. “Where is it?”

“It’s back upstairs, and I don’t know who I sent it to,” Rythian says, trying not to chuckle at Trottimus’ frustration. Trottimus kicks him again, ECHOing his companions–Rythian teleports himself and Trottimus up to where Teep and Alsmiffy are.

He could have left him behind. Since there’s no lifts, Trottimus would have had to run back upstairs. Rythian would have to endure the most awkward silences in the history of silences while waiting for him to arrive.

He nearly trips over Teep. Teep’s sitting on Alsmiffy’s back, grasping each of Alsmiffy’s limbs in a painful looking wrestling hold.

“Teep!” Rythian shouts. “Where’s the laptop?”

“Alsmiffy!” Trottimus bellows. “Where’s the–”

Teep bends Alsmiffy’s leg back. It elicits a whimper. “Please, no, you’ll tear my leg off!”

Rythian teleports upstairs. Trottimus tackles him and is teleported as well. The two land on the floor, Trottimus trying to beat Rythian up. Rythian uses the momentum from the tackle to flip himself on top of Trottimus. A punch catches him on the chin, above his scarf.

He slams a palm against Trottimus’ chest. It frees him. Trottimus is back on his feet a second after Rythian is. The two scan the floor for the fabled, missing laptop. The floor’s a mess, like a storm blew through it and turned it upside down. It’s unsettling.

Rather than teleport, Rythian turns and runs. Trottimus is on his tail, barely half a metre behind him. Trottimus has worked out that he must know where he’s going, and there’s no way that Rythian’s teleporting anywhere without him.

Ravs is on the radar, appearing on his map. A red dot’s practically on top of him. Rythian rounds the corner at high speed, springboarding off a chair and over a bunch of demolished cubicles. Trottimus follows him, lab coat swishing.

Ross is gingerly poking a kilt, Ravs’ head trapped under a enormous claw blocking his face from view. A puddle of blood coats the floor underneath Ravs.

Rythian’s world narrows to the view of Ravs’ body, the blood, the bloodcurdling dread spiking his veins with righteous fury, demanding vengeance. The three must pay in full.

He points directly at Trottimus, curling a hand to yank him through space. Letting his control carelessly slip in that second would have claved Trottimus in half. He flings him aside. Ross grunts, growling at the sudden impact against his side.

Recognising a surprised Trottimus, he sniffs the air, smelling Rythian. Rythian launches himself at Ravs, teleporting him from under Ross to his side.

Ravs is blinking at him, confusion brushed aside as he adjusts to his new position. “Rythian!” A couple of fresh, shallow claw marks on his arms leak blood. “You’re okay!”

“The laptop!” Rythian mentally slaps himself for losing sight of the goal. Yes, it’s good that Ravs is unharmed. “Yes, you too.”

Ravs produces it. “This appeared underneath me. Couldn’t let Ross know, but that’s fine, Ross was asking me how to put on a kilt.”

“You idiot!” Trottimus elbows Ross. Ross frowns, mouth pulling back into a suppressed snarl, eyes yellowing and face growing elongated–a prod to the face stops the transformation. “The collar! Do I have to remind you every time I see you?”

“Alsmiffy?”

“Downstairs, dealing with Teep.” Trottimus doesn’t elaborate, which strikes Rythian as funny.

“Your kilt.” Rythian notes to Ravs. The kilt Ravs is wearing looks less shabbier and worn.

“This is my clean one.” Ravs points out. “Can I please have my kilt back?”

“Ha!” Trottimus snatches the kilt up before Ross can. He flashes it at Ravs, stretching the waistline to show off the faded, tartan fabric. “We’ll trade the kilt for the laptop!”

“No deal–” Rythian starts to say but the look of real horror crossing Ravs’ face stops him.

“Let’s talk–”

“Ravs, you can’t be serious!” Rythian protests.

“I’ve had that kilt for over ten years!”

“I’ll buy you another one! It’ll pay you back for buying me a new coat!”

A memory exits hibernation: Ravs leaving a new, brown coat at the foot of Rythian’s borrowed bed, back when Ravs used to to live in an apartment on the east coast. Rythian remembers picking the coat up, examining it between his hands, feeling along the thick, smooth fabric to see if it’ll aggravate his still healing back–he’s wearing it now.

“Nobody on this planet can make a proper Dionysian kilt!” Ravs’ accent slips.

“Nilesy can!”

“Nilesy can fix it, but he can’t make one!”

“You underestimate Nilesy!”

“And I’m sorry if I do, but I want my kilt back!”

“You have one kilt!”

“What am I going to wear if this kilt gets wrecked?”

Rythian has honestly never seen Ravs so much as wear pants in the entire time he’s known him. It shouldn’t strike him as funny to realise that, because he’s worried about the laptop, and Ravs is more concerned about his potential lack of a kilt.

Trottimus and Ross watch this exchange with identical, flabbergasted expressions. Ross’s face, hands and shoulders shrink. Barefoot, he nudges Trottimus in the side.

“Can I get a kilt?” Ross whispers.

“Ask Alsmiffy,” Trottimus whispers back after a beat.

“Okay.”

\--

Downstairs, Alsmiffy surrenders to the hold he’s trapped in. Teep’s relentless, keeping him pinned. It’s impossible to move when his arms and legs are kept prisoner. He’s already sore from waving his arms around earlier.

A tail crafted from diamonds waves at him. Alsmiffy turns his head to the side, squinting at it. It’s a diamond cat.

Teep releases Alsmiffy to join him in staring. The diamond cat hops onto a desk, nosing at the files and folders stacked there. With a bat of a paw, the cat knocks the topmost paper to the floor.

“It’s a cat,” Alsmiffy observes.

> yeah it is

Alsmiffy knocks Teep aside, dashing at the cat. The cat reacts by meowing, sitting upright in expectation. Teep tackles him, the two of them brawling.

“Let me pat the cat!”

> no

“THE CAT!”

> denied

“WHY?”

> i saw the cat first

“Wait, hold up, you want to pet the cat too?”

> yes i must pet all the cats

“I’ll rock, paper, scissors you for the first pat,” Alsmiffy swiftly negotiates. The prideful part of him gnashes its teeth at compromising.

> okay

Teep wins. The diamond cat stands, back arching as Teep’s hand moves along the shiny curve. Impatience strikes. Alsmiffy shoulders past Teep to start his own patting session. Surprisingly, Teep allows this.

Together, the two head upstairs.

“Okay, okay, my five minutes are up. Your turn.” Handling Elsa with care, he transfers her to Teep.

Teep takes her in both arms, keeping the flicking tail away from their face. Elsa purrs contently, the sound like metal windchimes dancing in the breeze.

Rythian shoots a brief, exasperated glance in Alsmiffy and Teep’s directions, noting the lack of hostility between the two. “I’m not even going to ask.”

Ravs is still too busy with Trottimus’ offer to notice. “Come on, thirty minutes on the laptop before we trade it for the kilt?”

“Fifteen minutes!” Trottimus counteroffers.

“Twenty-five!” Ravs heatedly fires back.

“Twenty!” Trottimus spawns a pair of scissors, holding up the edges to the kilt.

“Where did you get that cat from?” Ross perks up. “I could smell it but couldn’t see it!”

Alsmiffy snorts. “Found her. She’s ours now!”

> was yours

The betrayal’s a massive sting. Alsmiffy clutches his chest, staring at Elsa and Teep. “You tricked me again!”

> its not my fault you’re so gullible

“I trusted you!” Alsmiffy theatrically cries.

> ill trade the cat for the kilt

“Trott!” Alsmiffy whirls. “Give the kilt to them and we got Sjin’s cat! He’ll have to fork over a ransom!”

“What if he doesn’t?” Trottimus points out.

“He has to! Do you have any idea how much a diamond cat’s worth on the pet market these days?”

“Why do you know so much about diamond cats?” Ross asks, squinting at Alsmiffy.

Alsmiffy coughs. “Remember your pink dog bone toy? Was buying it, then saw a diamond kitten being sold at some petshop and asked how much it was.”

“Let me check that so I know you’re not lying.” Trottimus says.

“I’m not lying!” Alsmiffy sounds miffed.

Trottimus holds up a hand, consulting his HUD. His beady eyes comically widen. He exhales, steepling his hands together. “Well, well.” He grins, stuffing the scissors into his pocket. “Change of plans! We’ll trade you the kilt, in one piece, for the laptop and the diamond cat.” Alsmiffy and Ross nod, liking this plan.

“Teep, come on,” Ravs hisses, nudging them. “That’s my kilt they’ve got there!”

> your offer sucks

“I’ll throw in a meme,” Alsmiffy hastily adds. “It’s fresh, only just posted three hours ago.”

> go on

“Woah, really?” Ross raises an eyebrow. “A meme?”

> it has to be spicy

“Here!” Alsmiffy flicks his HUD towards Teep, sharing it. “Somebody edited a video of a baby kraggon into a ‘work it’ meme! The kraggon waddles!”

> ill think about it

With a sound akin to a shotgun blast, the door to the room’s kicked open. A boot drops. Saberial’s brandishing a laser weapon, her face flushed. “Nobody shoot! Rythian, do you need help?”

“We’re good,” Rythian answers in a slightly strangled voice. “We’re negotiating.” He tries to leave the sarcasm out of his voice and partially succeeds.

A second after he says that, Alsmiffy unleashes a fireball at her. “Negotiate this, that’s the one who stole our power core!”

“I think you mean my power core!” Ravs lunges at Trottimus. His hand snatches back the kilt. With a triumphant shout, he despawns it. “And this is for putting Sanctuary Hole in danger!” He smashes Trottimus in the face.

Shoving Trottimus aside, Ross takes the hit, ending up on the floor.

It’s a big mess of lasers, bullets and fire. Rythian teleports him and Teep to safety in the hallway. The building shakes a grenade explodes. Teep’s still holding Elsa. Elsa seems curious about the racket beyond the doorway.

> want to pet her

“No, thank you,” Rythian politely declines.

> then you hold her i need to go and save ravs big fat ass

“His ass isn’t fat–” It’s magnificent. He’ll eject himself from Zylus’ ship while it’s in space if Ravs ever hears him say that out loud though. “Fine!”

Elsa lets herself be transferred into a stranger’s disgruntled hold without a fuss. Her diamond exterior is pleasantly cool to the touch, contours smooth and polished. Rythian wonders what his life’s come to, as of that moment.

He can hear squabbling voices underneath him. Great, now he’s losing touch with reality. Did Sjin succeed? No, she’s never spoken to him since he fled the Vault. The voices have another source. Closing his eyes narrows his concentration.

At the edge of his mind is the muffled sound of Honeydew and Xephos arguing. The two are a common sight in the Crooked Caber, frequently meeting Ravs for a drink (the three being awfully chummy since the Badass Crater of Badassitude incident).

Sometimes Rythian forgets that other people had social lives. Ravs certainly cultured his like his black book’s never going to run out of pages. Rythian ripped one out years ago, keeping it close to his heart all these years. It ended up bringing him back, serving as a compass sustaining him when the loneliness became just a bit too much to bear.

Elsa wriggles in his arms, sensing what he can’t see. Rythian opens his eyes. The carpeted floor’s cracking apart like a rakkling’s thin eggshell about to hatch. Carpet peels back, breaking along the ruler straight edges to expose a dark hole. A damp, cloying smell bearing a remarkable resemblance to a stalker’s den has Rythian wanting to tug his scarf back into place.

Elsa’s tail excitedly swishing under his arm. If she claws him, he’s going to fashion a temporary leash and walk her on it. She presses her front paws on his arms, straining forwards in curiosity.

The head of a diamond shovel surfaces. It tilts left, then right, acting the part of a submarine’s periscope. “All clear,” The first, confident voice declares. As they talk, the shovel bobs along, reminding Rythian of a puppet show.

“My radar says it’s not!” The second, agitated voice retorts.

The diamond shovel rotates to ‘stare’ at the latter. “My sources don’t lie,” The first voice says.

“That shovel doesn’t have eyes, it doesn’t know anything!”

“Kraggons don’t have noses, but they know plenty,” The first voice becomes challenging, as if cheekily trying to goad the other into an argument that can’t be won.

“You’ve only met one kraggon, and all it did was eat rocks! And my junk mail!”

“It gave me one back as a present! How many kraggons do you know do that?” The shovel bobs, offended. “You’ve only met one kraggon, so don’t be racist.”

“It was probably full and threw up out of reflex.”

“There doesn’t have to be a logical explanation for everything!” If the shovel had arms, it’d have thrown them up into the air with how high it thrusts. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

“Yes, there has to be! That’s why we have science.”

“Then explain this, with science.” The shovel’s head lists at an awkward angle.

A stunned silence forms. “Are you seriously keeping things in your beard?”

“Shut up! I don’t have enough money to buy more space for my modules.” The shovel spins in place.

“This is a badly edited video of a kraggon strutting in time to shitty pop music. You’ve watched it fifty times.”

“Explain why it’s popular.”

“Just because I’m a computer scientist doesn’t mean I know every sort of science–”

“What I’m getting here is that your precious science can’t explain memes.”

“It can! I’m just not qualified for it. Besides, what does this have to do with kraggons throwing up rocks as presents and memes?”

“They’re both funny.”

“Funny.”

“You’re supposed to be laughing.”

“Haha.”

“Not sarcastically.”

“Fine, haha.”

“Or that fakely.”

“Do you two normally get sidetracked this often?” Rythian decides to politely interrupt when it’s clear that the newcomers aren’t going to leave their hole to chat. It’s so endearingly reminiscent of the trio that Ravs, Teep and Saberial are fighting.

“No, that’s just Honeydew. You can’t kick me on the shins!”

“My, how the tables have turned.” A pause. “Hang on, is that Rythian?”

“It sounds like Rythian.”

“It is me,” Rythian tiredly sighs. “Xephos, Honeydew, what are you doing here?” He and Elsa watch, entranced, as Xephos’ head rises above the rim of the floor.

“Rythian!” Xephos’ blue eyes blink at him. “Is this Sjin’s office?” Honeydew pops up out of the hole, twirling a magnificent, dust encrusted diamond shovel.

“Yes.” Rythian stares at the two awkwardly clambering out of the crude man-made hole in the carpet. “How did you–” He gestures at the hole with his head. Elsa meows in greeting.

“I knew it, Sjin’s too much of a cheapskate to use solid concrete as a foundation!” Honeydew despawns the diamond shovel. “Cat!” Standing on his tiptoes, he reaches over to pet her with a sweaty hand. Elsa licks his hand. “Oooh, your tongue!” Honeydew coos. “Who’s a good kitty?” Xephos pats her once, at Honeydew’s insistence.

“What are you two doing here?” Rythian interrupts the bout of patting.

“Saberial hired us to help her, but Honeydew decided to break in another way.” Xephos’ mouth twitches with barely suppressed annoyance. They sigh, grudgingly admitting, “It worked out pretty well, I’d say.”

“It was the best plan!” Honeydew says, giggling at Elsa’s tongue grazing over his hand. “We completely bypassed security!”

“That’s because there’s almost no security,” Rythian mildly says. “The secretary disabled it to let us in earlier.”

“Well, at least I made a quick exit.” Honeydew shrugs, not letting the remark break his stride.

“So, did you get the laptop?” Xephos inquires. A cursory look at Rythian’s thrown. Not seeing it, Xephos raises a questioning eyebrow.

“It’s in my inventory,” Rythian reveals.

“I can help you,” Xephos earnestly says.

Rythian spends a moment fighting immense suspicion. He’d doubted Teep’s loyalty after what happened on the Southern Shelf. He hates how he suspects the people closest to him are preparing for another backstabbing. Nothing in their behaviours indicate that any of them are going down that path. Everybody is on his side.

“How?” Rythian’s gaze doesn’t budge from Xephos’ eyes. They genuinely want to help him, even if they don’t have any personal reason to do so. With Sjin, it’s possible that he crossed Xephos and Honeydew too.

“Looking at computers is my speciality! I can find whatever you’re looking for super fast,” Xephos offers.

To back up their point, a holographic keyboard appears, then disappears. They do bring up an excellent point; aside from Teep, Rythian doesn’t know anybody who might be better at retrieving information from a computer.

“That’d be good.” Rythian finds himself trusting Xephos, even if they or Honeydew didn’t seem inclined to listen to his warning about Vault Hunting. “Problem is, other parties want the laptop.”

Last he saw, Xephos and Honeydew were wandering off with Panda to have some sort of epic duel. Turpster had gotten supremely drunk that night over having to figure out repair costs to Sanctuary Hole (which Panda had quietly paid for, sneaking behind his back to contact FyreUK).

“Are we keeping the cat?” Honeydew asks. He hasn’t offered much to the conversation, focusing on Elsa. Elsa’s delighted by the attention he’s paying her. Her wagging tail’s constantly knocking against Rythian’s front.

“I don’t know!” Rythian can’t help but sound exasperated. A few hours ago, if somebody had told him that he’d chased all over SipsCo.’s headquarters, only to end up catsitting, he’d have dunked his head into a bucket of cold water to make sure that he’s not dreaming. “She’s Teep’s.”

“Oh.” Honeydew makes a face. It still doesn’t take away his enthusiasm for patting Elsa.

“Would these parties happen to be the other Vault Hunters in there?” Xephos inquires, pointing to the doorway behind them. “It just went really quiet.”

Nodding, Rythian notices that there’s a profound silence, aided by a lack of shooting happening behind him. Keeping his grip on Elsa, he sticks his head into the room. Ravs, Teep and Saberial are locked in a stalemate with Trottimus, Alsmiffy and Ross. The latter three are surrounded by the former.

Ross has dropped onto all fours. Back arched like a cornered skag refusing to be tagged, he stalks around his two companions, claws leaving zigzagging trails in the carpet. Blood coats his teeth and mouth, which stays slightly open, prepared to maul the nearest person. His black suit’s peppered with bullet markings sliding off him.

Every time Rythian sees him, he’s a little further from appearing human (not that he can blame him one bit). Ross snaps at Saberial, dividing his attention between her, Ravs and Teep.

His previous opponent, Ravs, is bleeding from a series of gashes across his arms, shoulders and chest. A fresh bite wound marks one of his legs along the back of it. Shallow punctures flash the oozing red and pale pink of muscle. Whenever Ravs moves, blood drips onto the floor. The Torgue rifle in his hands aims at Ross’ head, following his abrupt, defensive movements.

Trottimus’ black eye doesn’t stop him from aiming his SMG or his three surveyors. The three machines remain in a triangular formation, already charged and waiting to attack. He’s chosen to risk attacking over being healed. His lab coat sports signs of corrosive and electrical damage, including one giant burn mark.

An invisible weight’s pressing against one of his legs, making him struggle to play it off. Sweat and blood layer his face and front, ruining his teal shirt. A shallow knife wound makes Trottimus grimace like he’s sucking on a hideously sour lollipop.

The crack marks in Alsmiffy’s gas mask have widened to span the whole head and face. Straight lines have gouged the lens and the flame print. The mask is barely held together by the protective underweave. A solid, rough shake of the head would make it fall apart.

A throwing knife is buried to the hilt in one shoulder. He’s taken another, stashing it on his belt like some kind of trophy. His ruffled suit’s charred and grazed like he’s rolled through a bonfire. An impatience to his stance tells everyone that he’s not ready to surrender just yet. The vents in his gauntlets are primed to fire, open as wide as they’ll go, guarding Trottimus and covering Ross.

Saberial’s first fight with Ross left her with minor injuries and a bite. Rythian counts at least twenty wounds from this fight alone. Her shirt’s ripped along her front, exposing old scar tissue scored across her collarbone.

One of her forearms is tightly wrapped in her rainbow bandanna. Blood soaks her forehead, leaving a crimson road along her nose, cheek and neck. She licks her lower lip. A tiny bit clings to her mouth. It looks like lipstick, albeit brighter than any possible shade; Zoeya would have a field day if she were here.

Teep’s the only one who’s unharmed. They’re wielding the same pistol from earlier, spinning it in one hand. Defying their usual slouch, Teep radiates a calm readiness. They’re not happy about Ravs and Saberial suffering damage, judging by the way they’re prepared to execute the trio. They’re waiting for the right cue to move. As for what that cue is, Rythian can’t guess.

“Let’s talk!” Xephos strides into the room, their initial fear and apprehension fading. A confident grin beams at everyone who turns to face them.

“Great, they’re going into business mode,” Honeydew mutters. He doesn’t sound that disgruntled about it, staying close to Rythian.

Meowing, Elsa’s back legs kick at Rythian’s chest, wanting to get closer to the person who’d been so happy about patting her. Rythian refuses to let her wriggle free; Teep isn’t going to be happy if he drops her.

“Who’re you?” Trottimus shouts at Xephos. The SMG’s barrel swings to face Xephos.

“I have no quarrel with you, Trottimus!” Xephos’ eyes flash, the blue deepening to a friendlier shade. “That includes Alsmiffy and Ross!” They end up standing between Ravs and Saberial. Saberial raises both eyebrows, as with Ravs. “My name is Xephos, and over there is Honeydew, my companion.” Honeydew offers an exaggerated wave upon the introduction. “Being neutral Vault Hunters, I’d like to discuss the matter of a certain laptop with you three and Rythian here.”

“Oh, so you have heard of us,” Ross growls. His features shift back to human so he can talk before returning to his attack mode. He swings his head towards Trottimus, as if seeking permission to attack Xephos. Trottimus shakes his head.

“Why do you want the laptop?” Xephos shows no nervousness at being scrutinized by a werewolf, paying the three every bit their attention.

Trottimus properly winces as his black eye interferes with his squinting. “Sjin crossed us by sending Saberial and her sibling after us to steal our power core. The attack wrecked our base.”

“It also nearly killed us!” Alsmiffy adds. All the spite contained in those words could power a technical.

Teep sharply shakes their head when Ravs opens his mouth to argue otherwise. Ravs glares at them. Noting this, Xephos’ eyes land on Saberial. “What’s your story?”

“Came here to help Rythian get that laptop, didn’t realise these chumps would be here, and accidentally made things worse.” Saberial grins, sheepishly. It has an edge to it.

Xephos nods like it’s to be expected, turning back to the trio. “You want revenge, right?”

“Yeah!” The trio chorus as one.

“That can wait,” Rythian says, finally entering the conversation. Ravs looks relieved that Rythian’s alive, but also, concerned that he’s still here.

“And what did Sjin do to you?” Xephos directs this at Rythian.

“Well, to put my motives into perspective,” Rythian takes a deep breath, “he talked my friend into backstabbing me so they could steal my Vault Key, had them bring it to him, and he’s going to open one of the most dangerous Vaults on Pandora and doom the entire universe to destruction at the hands of a vengeful Eridian entity!”

“That makes us look really petty,” Ross notes after a thirty second pause while Rythian catches his breath. Ross stands on his hind legs, reverting back to his human form. He scratches his beard, glancing at Trottimus and Alsmiffy.

“Excuse us,” Trottimus says. The trio form a huddle. He lifts his head to shoot a glare at everyone watching. “Don’t eavesdrop, this is a team meeting!” He returns to the hushed, heated whispering. Five minutes later, the huddle concludes, the trio separating.

“Hey, what do we get if we let you go after him first?” Alsmiffy snidely asks.

“Pandaora’s at stake here and you want to see what you can get out of it?” Saberial snorts. “Wow.”

“Can’t blame us for trying,” Trottimus shamelessly says. “We don’t do things for the greater good.”

“We’ll do it if it’ll benefit us.” Alsmiffy jabs his chest with a thumb. “What’ll sweeten this deal?” With a metal clank, he rubs a thumb and forefinger of a gauntlet together.

Teep restrains Saberial by the arm, grabbing her by the vest. “You selfish–” She almost drags Teep forward with a shrug.

“I don’t know, maybe you’ll get to live?” Rythian snaps. Elsa whines when he jostles her. His gaze could reignite a dying star.

Caught in it, Trottimus, Alsmiffy and Ross glance at each other, gulping. “Sounds fair.” The trio nod to one another, making sure that none of them are going to warn extra wrath by disagreeing.

“Can’t really do much when dead,” Trottimus points out.

“Being dead’s bound to be really boring,” Alsmiffy reflects, his hand stroking his chin. A flame licks his chin. He ignores it.

“And I don’t punch your faces in,” Ravs darkly mutters. The trio agreeing to help Rythian appears to have shifted his opinion of them. He rejoins Teep and Rythian (giving Elsa a scratch behind the ears for good measure, which she immensely enjoys).

“That too.” Ross holds up a meaty finger to point to the collar. “But also, can anybody get this thing off?” Nobody moves. “Please?” He quickly adds.

“I’ll have a look,” Xephos volunteers, stepping over. Ross is shorter than him by half a head. Xephos prods at the collar.

“Oi! I need that in one piece!” Trottimus warns. “You want to make a move on that, you check with me first!”

“Interesting construction. You got the blueprints on you, by any chance?” Xephos proceeds to consult Trottimus, who shares his HUD. Ross leans over the latter’s shoulder to stickybeak.

While that’s happening, Saberial’s still grinding her teeth. She glares in their directions (Alsmiffy stepping behind Ross to hide). “I can’t believe you’re letting them go,” She mutters to Rythian.

Teep jabs her in the arm, despawning their gun. “If they try anything, we’ll deal with them,” They assure her.

“What Teep said,” Rythian says. He has second thoughts about letting the trio help, but at this point, any help is appreciated.

“Besides, where’d you get the cat from?” Saberial indicates Elsa. Honeydew’s crafted a cat toy out of one his beard’s long braids. It’s being waved in front of her.

Teep takes Elsa from Rythian, handing her to Saberial. “For Nilesy.”

“We’re stealing Sjin’s laptop and his cat?” Saberial eyes Teep like she doesn’t quite approve of their action. Her dislike of Sjin wins. She sighs.

“It’s not like he’s going to miss her,” Teep signs.

“True.” Saberial grins. “I thought you didn’t like cats.” Honeydew squeals when Elsa gets her teeth around the braid to yank hard on it, dragging the rest of his beard up.

“I don’t,” Teep confirms. “I just tolerate them.”

Rythian keeps an eye on Alsmiffy, who’s the last member of the trio. He’s not doing anything aside from shoot the occasional, lingering glance at Elsa. Whatever urge he’s fighting wins. Alsmiffy shuffles towards the cat.

“Some event this turned out to be,” He mumbles, keeping clear of Saberial like he expects her to attack. Saberial’s gaze turns wary.

“Tell me about it,” Honeydew says. Alsmiffy looks around for the source of the voice. “Down here,” Honeydew helpfully says. “Do you want to pet her too?” He looks at Saberial, eyes watering and doubling in size to implore her cooperation.

Saberial sighs, holding out Elsa. Elsa paddles in the air, straining to reach Honeydew and Alsmiffy. “You can pat her as much as you want before I give her to Nilesy.”

“Fuck yes!” Alsmiffy and Honeydew exclaim. The patting commences.

“What now? Do we get out of here?” Rythian can’t think of any other reason for why they should all linger. He doesn’t want to suggesting finding other clues; they have the laptop in their possession which is all they really need to start the hunt for Sjin.

Teep points to each of the trio in turn. “You should take them to the Vault with you.”

“What? These three?” Rythian blinks. “Why?”

Not that he’s in any doubt in regards to the trio’s abilities. Questionable motives and clashing personalities aside, Teep’s sudden recommendation makes little sense. That is, unless they’re being practical and are thinking ahead of him.

“What Teep means to say is that they’re strong,” Ravs translates. He too, has been watching the trio. “We can’t possibly take on the Queen all by ourselves.” What he’s implying is that if Teep and Rythian hadn’t won in their prime, there’s no way that there’ll be a victory if it’s just the three of them fighting.

Rythian hadn’t wanted to involve anyone else. What Ravs and Teep are trying to impress on him makes complete sense. If it’s Vault Hunters Rythian needs, he doesn’t have to look any further than Sanctuary Hole.

“You’re right. We can’t, and we have no idea if Sjin’s planning anything else.” Rythian pinches the bridge of his nose. “We need a plan.”

“I can help with that,” Ravs says (without making it sound dirty). “Teep?”

Teep shrugs. That’s as good of an answer as the two will get from them, so Rythian moves towards the others. Rythian approaches Trottimus; he seems to call the shots. “Trottimus?”

“Yes?” Trottimus hands a tiny wrench to Xephos from his singed and damaged lab coat. “Rythian, how can I help you?” He sounds courteous and respectful, lacking the smarminess he’d used earlier. Ross’ eyes flick to him. He stays still, letting Xephos prod the collar.

“We’d like to know if you’re up to for tangling with Sjin,” Rythian proposes. Pressed to explain, he adds, “It’ll be dangerous–”

“We get to fight Sjin?” Trottimus stares at Rythian. He smirks, high-fiving Ross. Ross grunts in agreement. “That’s all the reason we need!”

“Well, that was easy,” Ravs mutters. “Thought I’d have to intimidate you into joining.”

“You couldn't intimidate your way out of a paper bag,” Teep signs. Ravs swats them. Teep dodges by smacking it aside.

“That’s literally why we wanted the laptop,” Trottimus explains. “We wanted to fight Sjin, but needed to find out where he went.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Xephos quotes. They return the wrench to Trottimus. “I think we need to look at this collar elsewhere, we’re not making any progress here.”

“Hey, we could have a meeting in Sanctuary Hole, and you could remove the collar there,” Saberial proposes. “Call up everyone, make a plan and see what everyone thinks.”

Rythian opens his mouth to argue against this. He’d hoped to keep their going to the Vault more of a secret. Instead, he says, “That’s a good idea.”

“Let’s see who’s up for helping.” Ravs nods. “We can use the Crooked Caber, it’s the only place big enough to hold everybody.”

Before departing Opportunity, Trottimus finds Sherlock in the closet and frees him. Sherlock maintains that he’ll be fine. He’s almost done working on his resignation letter. Also, he’s ecstatic to learn that Elsa will be in safer hands; Sherlock didn’t have a clue what to do with her, since he’s not equipped to take care of a diamond cat.

Accompanied by all these people who want to help him, Rythian closes his eyes. He suppresses the urge to shake his head. The last time he’d taken on the Queen, she’d nearly destroyed him and Teep. He doesn’t want to think about what’d have happened if Teep had killed him, then suicided, or the Queen’s plan succeeding. Those two outcomes and Sjin succeeding are equally bad.

The pessimistic side of him wonders if taking others with him will make a big difference. The optimistic side of him finds a measure of hope in the thought. Things will be different this time. Either way, events beyond his control are now in motion.

He can’t fail. Failure’s never been an option to him.

\--

The passing of sunset leaves T-Bone Junction with a light atmosphere. The last of the storm’s a light drizzle. It cascades upon the once dried town. The highway’s population sign (two, not one) swings on its bracket.

Beneath the town, the flooded river renews the trenches, lapping at the struts anchoring the town. Soon, it’ll dry, and the sands will be parched once again. Until then, the Drifters and waters will feast on the drowned. The living continue to pay no heed.

A figure in a formal Dahl uniform idles on the outskirts of town. Staying clear of the drizzle, Zylus wipes at his fogged monocle with a lint-free cloth. It keeps his hands busy.

He hadn’t slept for long after the first nap. As the first to rise, he’d woken up and spent a few minutes rereading Teep’s final message. It’d read like a goodbye, even if all it contained were instructions about Greenman, his ship. Zylus had long suspected Greenman possessing a stealth drive.

Did Teep know of Rythian’s plan before sending their own message? There’s no other explanation. He’d like to talk to Teep and get answers. Zylus only had time to think about those few things before Daltos woke up as well.

“We…could stay here, and not go to the meeting,” Daltos suggested as he’d gotten dressed. “You don’t have to help the Vault Hunters out.”

Zylus stopped buttoning up his jacket. He couldn’t help an outraged stare, because that went against everything he’d ever stood for, about helping Rythian, because Rythian helped him and Zylus wants to do his part to defend Pandora, if that’s what Rythian wants.

He’d defended T-Bone Junction, his own little piece of the planet, and if he can’t defend Pandora, he might as well kill himself.

He’d told Daltos as much. When he’d finished speaking his own mind (for once), he’d expected another giant fight that’d boot the two of them back to square one. Daltos had kept quiet, letting Zylus flay him alive with words.

Zylus hadn’t expected him to ever say something so incredibly selfish before, for someone who jumped at every chance to pick a fight (not caring if it’s winnable or not).

He tries not to think about the look Daltos had given him. “If you did other things as passionately as you lectured me, I won’t have any complaints for days.”

Zylus didn’t respond, his mind stalling. Needless to say, the silence during coffee had been awkward. Navigating after reaching a mutual understanding’s like crossing the desert in a rowboat.

He’d left Daltos to finish his coffee on his own. He regrets leaving the warm kitchen for a dismal, wet place, wanting a bit of solitude to collect his thoughts. The peaceful solitude doesn’t last long. Slow footsteps alert Zylus to Daltos’ presence.

“Before we go to the meeting, I’d like you to meet someone,” Zylus mumbles, slipping his monocle back into place.

BebopVox had asked for this. It was after he’d slipped them a copy of Rythian’s message to let them know what’s going on. He’s never left town without telling BebopVox. Imagining their reaction makes Zylus shudder. It’d be like betraying them.

“Speak up, I can’t hear you,” Daltos says, cupping his head to his ear. “I’m going deaf from too many rockets.” He’s in his bandit outfit; Zylus had dried both their outfits before his second nap.

“Shut up, you’re not going deaf.” Zylus can’t help a small laugh. It eases the awkwardness from before.

“Say what?” Daltos repeats, a definite smirk on his face.

“I said that you’re dead in bed,” Zylus says, grinning.

“Excuse me, but I heard that ‘I’m the best in bed.’” Daltos’ lack of shame has Zylus deadeying him.

“You’re not the best in bed,” Zylus argues, shaking his head.

“You got any evidence?” Daltos raises an eyebrow.

Zylus doesn’t, so he’s forced to endure Daltos’ smirk growing smirk. “I want you to meet someone,” Zylus repeats.

Daltos pointedly drops his gaze to Zylus’ crotch. “If it’s who I’m thinking of, I’m already plenty familiar.”

With a hint of pink to his cheeks, Zylus rolls his eyes. The flirting’s not exactly new territory to explore. It’d kind of been that way when the two of them had been younger, before Pandora happened. Learning to put aside the past to move on is new. If he or Daltos fucks this up, there won’t be another chance to repair their relationship.

To his secret relief, he doesn’t fuck up keying in the code to BebopVox’s building. The door parts. If BebopVox had wanted to, they could have barred him and Daltos from entering. This part is separate from Rythian’s plan.

Without any hesitation or suspicion, Daltos walks in, followed by Zylus. Zylus shuts the door. Daltos concludes that the other room is where Zylus (and BebopVox) want him to be. The darkness filling this room doesn’t bother him.

“I’ve been here before,” He says, his voice hushed.

“You have?” Zylus stares at him. He’s never used that voice before. BebopVox would have definitely told him if Daltos had infiltrated their quarters, even if he’d left him all alone in the town when heading up to Concordia, prior to reconciling with Ravs.

“Yeah, in a dream.” Daltos rubs the back of his head, looking spooked. “We had clones–” He launches into a surreal, detailed description of the dream.

Zylus carefully does not say anything to implicate himself.

All the monitors are still active. Zylus picks one console at random, standing beside it. The monitor above displays a camera feed overlooking the desert to the north. The river’s swollen mouth empties into the sands, sharing its bounty with the desert, its only contribution until it too, dies once the storm is gone.

By the time he’s done, Daltos concludes that his subconscious has issues. He hadn’t left out any details either, including the dirty and disturbing parts. Zylus ate up every sentence, unable to help comparing it to his own dream. It’d been almost identical, from how the dream began to how it ended.

“That was definitely a dream.” Zylus uses a neutral tone, hoping that Daltos won’t pick up on how weirded he is by the coincidence.

“I don’t often, but when I do, it can get pretty wild.” This is one of the few times that Daltos is blissfully oblivious.

“Anyway.” Zylus stands up straight, clasping his hand behind his back. Without warning, he reveals his biggest, well-kept secret. “This is BebopVox.”

A single line of text interrupts the monitor’s screen to overlay the scenery.

> Hello Daltos! :D :D :D :D :D

BebopVox’s avatar appears on all the monitors surrounding the two. Their current avatar possesses bright blue eyes. This time, there’s a mischievous glint present. The visor’s pushed up to their forehead; Zylus doesn’t know if BebopVox is still having trouble picking a hairstyle to suit their image of themself.

The two wait with bated breath for Daltos’ reaction. It all hinges on how he’ll react that he’d been so close to achieving his goal. Daltos stares with his mouth slightly agape at the monitor. After ten seconds, he shrugs off his shock, folding his arms over his chest.

“Uh. Hi.” Daltos swallows, regarding BebopVox calmly. The lack of an emotional reaction can’t help but bother Zylus. He can read Daltos. It almost seems like he’d been expecting this meeting.

“Have you two met before?” Zylus fixes him with a hard stare.

Daltos blinks, clearly trying to play it cool. If he’s faking, Zylus is going to have words with BebopVox. “No!”

> We met ten years ago!

“Recently,” Zylus specifies, turning his gaze on BebopVox.

> Please give a time range for ‘recently’ so I can consult my memory!

“Since he got here,” Zylus slowly says. He finds himself copying Daltos. He settles for fidgeting with a frayed jacket sleeve so it’s not obvious.

> I have met him plenty of times as a Loader, a surveyor and a workerbot!

“Bebop, have you two spoken?” Zylus adds, “By that, I mean, exchanged proper words?”

On the monitor, BebopVox tilts their head. Their blue eyes have sharpened to a penetrating gaze. They must have studied hundreds of glares in their spare time to achieve such a human look. When text appears on the monitor, BebopVox’s mouth moves like they’re speaking as well.

> Are you ordering me to tell you?

“I–no!” Zylus glances down, cheeks flushing at how demanding his abhorrent request sounded. “I’d never order you to do anything! I just want to know if you two talked or something.” He’d never considered that possibility, or what it means that he’s doing that now.

BebopVox leans back with a visible pout. They tap their head with a finger, expression becoming thoughtful.

> Then no, we have not spoken.

“Daltos?” Zylus tentatively asks.

He fears the answer that he’ll get. Anxious thoughts of anything other than a ‘no’ has him on the verge of having a panic attack (learning what those are from Nilesy makes it a bit better, finally having a name to put to those).

His world is shrinking to the room he’s standing in, his body stretched to breaking point. Logic drags him in one direction, emotion opposing it, neither caring if he’ll eventually break again from the tug of war.

The obliviousness afflicting Daltos isn’t present in the way he take Zylus’ hand in a firm, grounding grip. “No,” He simply says.

That ‘no’ is what Zylus wanted to hear. The tension in his chest seeps from his lungs to his posture, both floating. Having a hand other than his own to hold onto is helping. Nothing happened, that’s right.

In the corner of his eye, BebopVox is watching with something akin to approval. A hint of a victorious grin touches the corner of their mouth. The expression is gone when Zylus has them in full view.

“So, what’s it like living in T-Bone Junction all these years with just him?” Daltos throws that question at BebopVox. It’s what two people meeting each other for the first time would ask. In a way, Zylus is glad that Daltos is still treating BebopVox with respect, even if they’re not human.

> Great! Zylus is good person to live with, and he is the best.

The answer appears to satisfy Daltos. “Bebop, right? Can I call you that?” He’s making an effort. That’s a pleasant surprise to Zylus.

> Yes! You may. Any friend of Zylus is a friend of mine, and friends can use my nickname.

“Nice to meet you.” Daltos smirks. He squeezes Zylus’ hand. “I promise not to steal you so I can keep shagging him.” Zylus lets go of his hand to huff and look away. Daltos lets his disappointment show. “Fine, I get it, babe, not in front of Bebop.”

> I do not mind this type of interaction! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Zylus mumbles something that sounds a lot like ‘thanks’ under his breath. “We’re going to the meeting now, or else we’ll be late.”

“Nothing wrong with being late,” Daltos says. “According to certain people, some people are just naturally–”

“Stop quoting Ravs!” Zylus interrupts with a scandalized look. “And anybody else!” BebopVox pretends not to look too interested in the conversation happening within earshot.

Are you going to the meeting too?” Daltos asks them, ignoring Zylus.

> It’ll be through ECHO! I have a spare device here that Zylus left with me.

“We’ll be back soon,” Zylus bids once he’s spent a few minutes checking the ECHO device’s connection.

> Thank you! Remember, communication is key.

The advice has Zylus giving them a tired look. BebopVox flashes two thumbs up in response, plus an exaggerated wink. Once he and Daltos are outside, Zylus locks the room before following Daltos to the Fast Travel Station.

He still doesn’t know how to break it to him that Daltos isn’t going with him in regards to Rythian’s plan.

Teep’s last message is cryptic as hell; Zylus can’t work out if they’re going too or if they’re busy elsewhere. He has a bad feeling about it. Teep didn’t get sentimental; they got blunt, staying well clear of emotional displays.

Meanwhile, BebopVox creeps into the ECHO device to liaise with Xephos and Pyrionflax about a certain laptop.

\--

– / / BebopVox has entered ‘TONIGHT WE DINE LIKE SKAGS’ chat. / / –  
BebopVox: Greetings!  
Pyrionflax: Alright, Xephos, who’s this?  
Xephos: A friend!  
BebopVox: You may know me as ‘edgelord’ from our previous engagements, Flax.  
Pyrionflax: …OH FUCK IT REALLY IS YOU  
Xephos: You two know each other?  
Pyrionflax: Sure do!  
BebopVox: Yes! We play games together.  
Pyrionflax: Would have been nice to know sooner!  
Xephos: Sorry, but Bebop’s a little unusual.  
BebopVox: Indeed! But what’s the problem?  
Xephos: There’s too much information on this laptop. We can’t shift through all of it in time.  
Pyrionflax: Meeting’s delayed because of us.  
BebopVox: I can do it.  
Pyrionflax: You can’t speedread all this.  
Xephos: BebopVox is an exception.  
Pyrionflax: I bet my left ECHO eye that you can’t.  
Xephos: You should have a live connection to us.  
BebopVox: Ah, I see what you mean.  
BebopVox: What are you looking for?  
Xephos: Information about ‘the Vault of the Queen’, mining rig blueprints, and anything about ‘SipsCo.’ which will help us take down Sjin.  
Pyrionflax: A lotta people aren’t happy with him.  
– / / Trottimus is no longer idle. / / –  
Trottimus: Well, what do you know, Strife’s a pro at getting collars off werewolves.  
Pyrionflax: What is this kinky shit you’ve brought into chat?  
Trottimus: Stuff happened.  
Xephos: Sorry I couldn’t help you more past ‘this bit can be removed’ part before looking at the laptop.  
Trottimus: No worries, the laptop’s more important.  
Trottimus: Also, who’s this in chat?  
BebopVox: Hello there! I’m a friend.  
Xephos: This is Bebop.  
Trottimus: Nice to meet you.  
Trottimus: You don’t have any pronouns on your ECHO profile.  
BebopVox: Gender does not apply to me!  
Trottimus: Ah, I see.  
BebopVox: You may use ‘they/them’, if that’s of any reassurance.  
Trottimus: Will do.  
Pyrionflax: Any luck checking those files?  
BebopVox: I’ve found approximately fifty-six documents and files pertaining to your request. By narrowing search parameters using your terms, the number’s slashed to ten.  
Trottimus: Ten’s readable. Can you highlight them for us?  
BebopVox: There’s no need for that. I’ve already read through them. Would you like me to prepare a report and a summary of what I found?  
Xephos: So, Pyrion, I’ll take that left eye of yours?  
Pyrionflax: You’re not getting my eye, that was just an expression!  
Trottimus: But they did read through it pretty quick.  
Pyrionflax: Shut up!  
BebopVox: I’ll start compiling information.  
Xephos: Send Rythian a copy once you’re done. This is his plan, after all.  
BebopVox: :o  
BebopVox: That would explain why I found a startling number of documents regarding him.  
Pyrionflax: He says he’ll explain it at the meeting.  
Trottimus: I guess I’ll let him know to start soon.  
Xephos: I need to eat. You think Nilesy will cook something if I ask nicely?  
Trottimus: He just made me mashed potatoes. They’re so good.  
BebopVox: I wish I could have some mashed potatoes. They sound delicious.  
Pyrionflax: They go best with cheese. Mmm, I could go for some of that right now.  
Xephos: Be back!  
BebopVox: I’ve sent the report!  
Trottimus: There is is.  
Xephos: It’s only three pages!  
BebopVox: I could have done it in five, but I felt that three suffices.

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –  
Saberial: Nilesy!  
Nilesy: Welcome back! How did the mission go? You’re bleeding! Here, have a rag.  
Saberial: Good! It’s fine, these are just flesh wounds!  
Nilesy: You need to see Lalnable!  
Saberial: I will! But first, I got a special surprise for you.  
Nilesy: What’s that behind your back? It’s not a fist for my face, is it?  
Saberial: No! Teep was kind enough to find this lovely, lost critter wandering around Opportunity, and allowed me to take her into our custody.  
Nilesy: Oh. My. Sirens.  
Saberial: Don’t drop the glass you’re holding!  
Nilesy: I’ll clean it up later!  
Saberial: Careful, she’s kind of heavy–  
Nilesy: NO CAT IS TOO HEAVY FOR MY ARMS!  
Saberial: Do you want to put her on the counter?  
Nilesy: Yes, that might be a good idea. Gosh, aren’t you lovely! SHE’S MEOWING. NOBODY PANIC. I HAVE THE SITUATION UNDER COMPLETE CONTROL. THE NILESINATOR IS ON THE CASE.  
Saberial: That’s a lot of stuff for cats you’re pulling out of your pockets!  
Nilesy: ONE MUST ALWAYS BE PREPARED TO ADOPT A CAT.  
Saberial: Wait, where did you get all this stuff on Pandora? There can’t be that many pet stores here!  
Nilesy: PANDA SOLD ALL THIS STUFF TO ME.  
Saberial: How much did you pay? If Panda overcharged you, I’ll–  
Nilesy: ONE DOLLAR. I HAGGLED IT DOWN FROM FIVE DOLLARS.  
Saberial: (I guess Panda must really like you, because Panda wouldn’t have settled for anything less than three.)  
Nilesy: PANDA HAD ALL THIS STUFF FOR YEARS AND NEVER GOT AROUND TO BUYING A CAT. THEY WANTED TO GET RID OF IT, SO I THOUGHT I’D HELP OUT.  
Saberial: Well, that’s good!  
Nilesy: SHE’S HUNGRY. I GOT THIS.  
Saberial: Um, according to her last catsitter, diamond cats prefer–  
Nilesy: HAVE SOME SPECIAL KIBBLES.  
Saberial: Okay, where did you get the kibbles from?  
Nilesy: HOMEMADE RECIPE. EAT UP, IT TASTES GOOD.  
Saberial: That raises more questions then answers. Also, you do realise that you don’t need to yell, right?  
Nilesy: I CAN’T HELP IT. MY PUNY BODY CAN’T CONTAIN MY JOY, SO IT’S OVERFLOWING INTO MY VOICE.  
Saberial: She ate all the kibbles.  
Nilesy: SHE WANTS MORE, AND SHE’S PURRING. SHE LIKES ME.  
Saberial: …Are you okay? You’re crying.  
Nilesy: SORRY TO ALARM YOU, BUT THIS IS THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY ENTIRE LIFE. WELL, WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE SOO, BUT I CAN DIE HAPPY!  
Saberial: We’re not going to die, according to Rythian!  
Nilesy: NOT TO BE A PESSIMIST, BUT I’M JUST SAYING THAT IF WE DO, I DIE FULFILLED, AND WITH HER IN MY ARMS.  
Saberial: Oh, and her name’s ‘Elsa’, by the way.  
Nilesy: ELSA, EH? ELSA, NICE TO MEET YOU. I’M NILESY.  
Saberial: You like her?  
Nilesy: I LOVE HER!  
Saberial: Haha, that’s good.  
Nilesy: LET ME EXPRESS MY ETERNAL GRATITUDE BY PAYING YOU HALF A MILLION DOLLARS.  
Saberial: We never did up an official contract for finding you a cat, so I’m more than happy to be paid nothing. Just seeing you this happy’s enough of a payment.  
Nilesy: NO, REALLY. TAKE THE MONEY.  
Saberial: I really can’t! Nilesy, Zoeya will ban me from watching cartoons with her if I so much as accept a dollar!  
Nilesy: HALF A DOLLAR, THEN.  
Saberial: How about none?  
Nilesy: AN INVISIBLE DOLLAR?  
Saberial: I don’t think that exists.  
Nilesy: IT NOW DOES. I AM SLIPPING IT INTO YOUR POCKET, SO DON’T LOSE IT. I ALSO ADDED A GENEROUS TIP. FEEL FREE TO CASH THAT MASSAGE COUPON ANYTIME. I GIVE TOP QUALITY MASSAGES, ACCORDING TO RAVS, ZOEYA AND LOMADIA.  
Saberial: Thank you, and pleasure doing business with you.  
Nilesy: YOU MAY PET HER ANYTIME. LOOK AT HER, SHE LOVES PATS.  
Saberial: If Zoeya comes looking for me, tell her that I’m at Lalnable’s clinic! Enjoy your new home, Elsa!  
Nilesy: NO PROBLEM! SHE WILL BE LOVED, ALWAYS. AND THANK TEEP FOR ME.  
– / / NOW ENDING ECHO RECORDING. / / –

\--

Rythian and Ravs enter the Crooked Caber together. Practically everyone’s gathered on the ground floor, idling by tables and the booths as they wait.

Ravs steers Rythian towards the counter. He takes a seat. Ravs veers off to help Nilesy distribute food. It’s good to sit down at last. His body appreciates the kindness he permits it.

Someone brings food to him. When he looks up, it’s Zoeya. Her eyes are puffy and red. Rythian accepts the plate of mashed potatoes. He stares at the smiley face consisting of half-melted cheese topping the white mountain. Telling her that he can’t have too much cheese is a dick move, so he just thanks her.

“Is Teep okay?” She whispers.

“They’re awake,” He tells her. “They’re going to need to stay out of action until they get better.” That’s sugarcoating it a little. The immediate expression of utter relief on Zoeya’s face eases the guilt.

Rythian got the full story from her and Saberial an hour or so ago. Did it surprise him that Teep’s pulled that kind of stunt? Yes and no.

His mood from visiting Teep’s still recovering from the giant shock of seeing them so wounded. Like Ravs’ ongoing lack of pants, he’s never seen them injured to the point of incapacitation. Still, they’re alive, and that’s what really counts. In their current state, they won’t be going along with Rythian to the Vault.

He could literally choose anybody in the room (and he feels guilty for thinking as much), but Rythian would prefer it if Teep’s here. Something about their ability to remain unfazed in the face of all and any event is immensely reassuring.

Ravs is a little more down than usual; his chatter on the way back suffered for it. Rythian took him aside prior to entering the bar, telling him that he didn’t have to force a smile. It meant something to Ravs, judging by the way Ravs smiled at him after, his spirits lifted. He’s still wearing Teep’s former Dahl dogtags (all damaged silver tags, but one’s been painted a depressing black for some reason).

Panda’s not anywhere in the room either. That’d make sense, they’d stayed behind in Lalnable’s clinic to talk to Teep. Rythian hopes that the two will be able to reconcile; the two clearly have a mutual history that time can’t erase.

Zoeya sits next to him, wiping her eyes. “After all this, Saberial and I are going to visit them.”

“They’d really appreciate that.” Rythian hasn’t forgotten how Teep hadn’t shied away from meeting him or Ravs. Loneliness could cut deep, leaving a mark that took an eternity to heal. Maybe that’s also why Teep put up with him for so long.

There’s a commotion in the back room of the Crooked Caber. A beaming Parvis (patting his stomach) emerges from said room, strutting out. He stops dead in his track, pointing right at Rythian. “Will, Nano, he’s back!” He screams.

Chairs are knocked over, making Rythian flinch, searching the room for a nonexistent threat. Two faces that Rythian saw more than a month ago appear at the doorway.

Nanosounds and Will Strife waste no time in throwing themselves at Rythian. Zoeya rescues the plate of mashed potatoes (the smiley face melted into oblivion) so it doesn’t get sent flying.

With an almighty crash, the three topple to the floor. Rythian splutters, wondering what’s the matter with them. “Where have you two been?” He wheezes.

Nanosounds’ hug is as bad as Ravs’ one, almost stopping him from breathing. She squeezes him tight in her arms, rocking back and forth like she’s trying to remember. Will sits on his other side, his hug less suffocating. By definition, his hug’s still a hug. He’d never known Will or Nanosounds to hug like that before though, like they’ve been starved of his presence.

People are giggling, staring or smiling. Rythian waits. Reputation be damned, He hugs the two of them back, grabbing the two by handfuls of fabric to return the affections.

Once Nanosounds is done making sure that he’s not going to vanish in midair, she unhugs him, blowing her hair out of her face. Will stays where he is, arm winding around Rythian’s. An air of contentment surrounds the three of them.

“Rythian!” Nanosounds breathes. “We missed you so so much.” If a voice could cry, hers would be full on bawling until Pandora flooded.

“Did something happen?” Rythian asks. Any resentment for them not answering their ECHO devices is forgotten, defrosted by the two’s larger than life presences.

He’s missed her headstrong nature, strength in times Will’s mask of professionalism sliding in the face of his more goofy side, and what makes them them. They’re his friends too. Nothing will ever change that.

“Lots of things happened,” Will says. “It’s all easily summed up with the fact that Sjin tried to kill us.”

Rythian turns his head to the side so sharply that he almost cricks it. “What?”

“He tried to get my Mother to make a deal in exchange for sending me back to her through some manipulation.” She snorts. “Well, it didn’t work, he tried to kill us, but we managed to get back to Pandora.”

“We heard what happened from everyone else.” Will picks up while Nanosounds recovers, opting for a delicate tone. He awkwardly gestures with a hand. “We’re about as shocked as you are.”

“We’re sorry, for not being there when it happened.” Nanosounds’ eyes are watering. Watery eyes are a bad sign.

“No, it’s fine, I got a plan, and you’re here now,” Rythian hastily says in an attempt to stop the waterworks. “Really, you couldn’t do anything, so don’t think it’s your fault. It wasn’t.” It’s Lalna’s.

She sniffs loudly. “We’ll do whatever we can to help!”

“That’s the Strife Solutions guarantee, or you get your friendship back,” Will quips in a professional voice that belongs on a radio station.

Rythian laughs. “I’ll keep the friendship, thanks.” He pauses, then jokingly adds, “Yours doesn’t come cheap.”

“How dare you!” Will gasps, mock hurt colouring his tone. Nanosounds laugh cries, the waterworks abated by the familiar banter.

“You three should get a room,” Ravs observes from the counter. He’s casually digging into Rythian’s mashed potatoes with a fork. Zoeya doesn’t look sorry for not defending the plate of food, her weepy expression replaced by amusement that mirrors Ravs’.

“Those are my potatoes!” Rythian teleports the plate into his lap. “I’m eating those!”

“Was,” Ravs corrects, grinning. He spins the fork in his hand before putting it away.

“You want some more potatoes?” Nanosounds is already on her feet, running into the back room. “Nilesy! Rythian wants more potatoes–”

“No I don’t!” Rythian shouts. “This is enough food for me–

“I always did think you should eat more,” Zoeya agrees.

“I eat enough!” Rythian protests.

“More potatoes coming up!” is Nilesy’s muffled shout.

Rythian resigns himself that it’s apparently an ‘ignore him’ day. Will comfortingly pats him on the shoulder, helping him back into his chair before stealing the seat on his other side. “At least she’s not hitting you with a pillow.”

“Wait, what?” Rythian’s fork stops before it can reach his mouth. A creamy glob of potatoes falls back onto the plate (taking with it the cheese he’d mostly scraped off).

“We had a pillow fight,” Will summarizes with enough gravity to flatten a mountain. “It was epic.”

Rythian’s not going to ask for details, focusing solely on filling his stomach with mashed potatoes. It’s been hours since he last ate. His hunger’s been on the backburner for too long. It’s a simple meal, but nourishing. It does something to the inside of his head.

Maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

Nilesy places a second plate of steaming mashed potatoes by his elbow. “For you.” Elsa trots after him, meowing nonstop. “She’s been like this all day,” He sighs. The happiness in his voice almost infuses Rythian with the same feeling.

“I can’t eat anymore.” As good as the potatoes are, Rythian pushes the plate away once his stomach waves a white flag to surrender. “I’ll throw up if I do.”

“Mine,” Ravs immediately claims as Zoeya, Will and Nanosounds open their mouths. The three huff. “Hey, I haven’t eaten all night as well!”

“Hey, you ate my potatoes,” Rythian accuses, and leaves it at that. The indignation contained in his words earns a round of laughter.

“Still, those potatoes are to die for,” Nanosounds lightly notes, with a coveting glance. Nilesy floats off with Elsa, the compliment sending him to cloud nine.

A report pops up in Rythian’s HUD. Half of it is news to him. The other half is stuff he already knows. It’s from someone called ‘BebopVox’; maybe they’re a friend of a friend. It’s all coming together.

Xephos sticks their head out over the balcony on the second floor. “Rythian! Did you get that report?” They shout down.

“I did!” Rythian shouts back. “Thanks!”

Xephos’ mouth twitches like they want to say something else. They don’t, taking the stairs to head into the back room, likely to grab a bite to eat.

In the background, Honeydew’s conversing with Parvis. Parvis has a ukulele (the neck broken and held together with duct tape) propped on one knee, showing off a couple of homemade chords. By him, Sparkles beatboxes, Kogie and Leo provided backing sounds.

Sereno, Alsmiffy, Ross and Turpster kill time by playing cards at the rounded poker table. A colorful pile of poker chips fills the middle. Apparently, Will and Nanosounds reacted strongly to the trio’s reappearance, as with Turpster. Once that’d been explained by Saberial, it’d eliminated the growing tension between all the wronged parties.

Lomadia chats with Saberial. Rythian’s never seen Lomadia so animated before. Saberial’s showing off the proof of Zoeya’s book of wildlife photographs and musings. Rythian spots one of him. He directs his gaze elsewhere, not wanting to suffer first-hand embarrassment that a shot (more like several less than flattering ones) of him had made it into said book.

Zylus and Daltos occupy a booth. The two are conversing, Zylus leaning forward to listen to whatever Daltos is talking about. The former’s expression is a mixture of fondness and sadness. The latter’s is serious. It’s almost loving, but what would Rythian know?

Daltos spots Rythian staring. Rythian nods at him once. Daltos nods back. Zylus smiles and waves. Rythian waves back too. He leaves the two be.

Will and Nanosounds sit by him, their very presences a greater comfort than words. He knows it. The two know it too. Between the three of them, a shared sense of loss is mutual, at their missing fourth member.

Wherever Nanosounds went, she picked up tact on the way back. Will radiates a confident air of ‘groundedness’, no longer unsure of his direction in life. Rythian’s not ready to discuss Lalna. His friends respect that, and he’s grateful that they do so.

It’d be nice to come back to all this.

Determined to end this no matter the cost, Rythian stands. Following his marker, he finds Trottimus crouched behind Ravs’ counter. Trottimus is fiddling with a surveyor propped up on a makeshift tripod. Xephos is tidying up tools.

“Projector’s ready when you are,” Trottimus informs him.

“Thank you.” Rythian doesn’t mention how weird it is that in less than three hours, he’s talking to Trottimus like they hadn’t tried to kill each other. “So, uh, how do I get everyone’s undivided attention?”

“I got an idea!” Xephos almost conjures a wind with how fast they move.

They dash over to Lomadia, interrupting her chat with Zoeya. A few words are exchanged. Lomadia nods, shoving two fingers into her mouth. A ear piercing whistle blasts through the entire bar. “Meeting’s starting!” Lomadia severely announces.

People cease whatever they’re doing at the authority in her voice. They all find seats, sitting down and falling quiet like obedient children at assembly time. Sparkles swears, picking himself up off the floor. Parvis is cuffed in the back of the head for laughing. Under Lomadia’s gaze, the two meekly settle down to listen.

“Rythian, before we start, some other people want to join in,” Ravs whispers.

“Who?” Rythian whispers back, still stunned that Lomadia had such a voice in her. Ravs enigmatically grins and begins a group ECHO call.

“Pyrionflax, at your service,” Pyrionflax says. Their ECHO icon appears in the bottom of his HUD. “I helped Xephos, Trott and Bebop get into that laptop.” They proudly add, “Free of charge.”

“Rythian, I hear you want to shake down a Vault,” Minty drawls. A feed of her joins Pyrionflax’s. “It also involves this no-gooder called ‘Sjin’, who’s apparently been responsible for firing those moonshots at Concordia.”

“Minty! You got a bone to pick with him too?”

“Yep. So, I want in on this plan of yours, even if you’ve been a deadbeat.”

“I…yes, of course!” Rythian can’t explain the feeling behind everyone wanting to pitch in. He’d never expected help from beyond Pandora. For the first time in nearly a decade, he can hope. Hope isn’t dead.

Something about the way she drawls ‘deadbeat’ has his patchy memory twisting about in his head. There’s something he’s forgetting, about Elpis, Minty, and why he left Elpis so depressed. It’s gone before he can make sense of it.

“Zylus wants to say something!” Daltos grabs one of Zylus’ hand to lift it up for him.

Zylus yanks his hand back, elbowing him. He stands as Daltos snickers while rubbing his aching side. “I have a friend who’d like to join too.”

“Go for it,” Rythian says. Text appears in his HUD. An empty ECHO icon marks their place amongst Pyrionflax and Minty’s feeds.

> Hello! :D

“This is BebopVox. They can’t really talk, so they’ll just be in the chat, listening and typing,” Zylus says. He steadfastly ignores a pleased looking Daltos.

> Thank you for including me. Carry on, as you were!

“Um.” Faced with a daunting army expectant faces, Rythian suddenly forgot what he wants to say.

“You can do this, Rythian,” Nanosounds whispers.

“Yeah, just pretend we’re all babies who need to be schooled,” Will adds.

Rythian almost laughs. He clears his throat. “Thanks for coming. There’s a lot of history about the Vaults and Pandora. It’s all tied together.” He takes a deep breath.

“Take your time!” Parvis shouts in encouragement, standing to be heard. Despite Sparkles yanking Parvis back down into his seat, it helps too.

“Let’s start with the Vault of the Queen.” Rythian flicks through his HUD, pushing an image onto the projector. “This is my best sketch of her, the Queen, that is.”

“Why isn’t she called ‘The Icebird?’” Zoeya points out, sounding far too innocent. Her question ruins the tense atmosphere, people cracking grins or keeping their best poker faces. A few try not to openly laugh.

Rythian inwardly sighs. “Well, the Eridians had other names, but these are the best translations I could–”

“I’d give my left arm to fight a Vault monster called ‘The Icebird’,” Nanosounds mutters. Will makes a sound that’s almost a hysterical giggle before stifling it with a fake cough.

“Hey Sparkles, how does ‘the Parvis’ sound as a title for our next song?” Eyes sparkling, Parvis spreads his hands, envisioning said song and the accompanying artwork.

“Not if it feeds your oversized ego.” Sparkles then grunts, noncommittally.

“When you’re all ready to let me continue?” Rythian testily asks. He gets a chorus of sheepish (and not so sheepish) apologies.

Drawing that sketch in his room after meeting Teep had taken twelve attempts, half of which he’d aborted out of dread. It feels like he’s bringing her to life in a drawing, confronting the fear he’d kept at an arm’s length.

He doesn’t have Teep’s fearlessness, Zoeya’s optimism, Ravs’ reliability, Nilesy’s resilience, Nanosounds’ headstrong nature or Will’s fortitude. All he has is too much knowledge. He’s putting it to use at last, in enlightening the people in this room as to what some of them are about to face.

He hopes that they’ll forgive him someday for doing this to them.

“Sorry for the blurriness.” His compulsion to apologise stems from his nervousness. “She’s a creation of the Eridians, an extinct race of aliens who built the Vaults.” Aware that he’s fumbling his explanation, he carries on anyway. “They locked her away. She used to be their guardian of knowledge.” He doesn’t need to have an edge in his voice. It’s weird, not having other people walk on eggshells regarding her, even when making a passing reference.

“So, aliens, is basically what you’re saying?” This comes from Turpster. He’s polite to keep the disbelief out of his voice, skepticism making him look older.

“Knew it.” Kogie nods.

“Called it,” Leo echoes.

“Can we kill it?” Minty asks.

“I’ll get to that in a bit.” Rythian sips from a glass of water that Ravs hands him. “What happened was that she got greedy and began to use the knowledge she’d gathered to test the boundaries of,” He pauses, trying to recall his rusty memories in translating the scattered ruins detailing her deeds, “Space and time. Amongst other things. She succeeded.” Surprise fills the room like he’s dropped a pebble into a puddle. While he waits for it to disperse, he finishes the glass of water.

“How?” Xephos looks interested.

“Aliens, dude,” Pyrionflax replies.

“I know it’s aliens! But we’ve already mastered Fast Travel. It’s the time component that people are struggled to master.” Xephos makes a frustrated gesture. “If we could achieve instantaneous Fast Travel just like that?” They snap their fingers. “Nothing’s off-limits if we could access time.”

“That sounds like a really bad idea, giving people the ability to do that,” Honeydew points out, his eyes wide with imaginating almost every scenario. “What if she knows how to do time travel?”

“See, that’s why the Eridians locked her away. Being the benevolent creators, they couldn’t kill their own librarian, so they just imprisoned her.” Rythian coughs, trying not to revive his old passion for xenoarchaeology. “She’d happily share what she knows to anyone who opens her Vault. And it’s not time travel she can do.”

“Then what can she do?” Xephos impatiently asks.

“Time travel’s impossible.” Rythian shifts on the spot, aware that everyone is now staring at him. “But she can open rifts to other dimensions.”

“What other dimensions?” He doesn’t blame Nanosounds for being alarmed.

“The one she made and ironically, got trapped in. The one she’s sharing with other Eridian prisoners, guardians, constructs, beings, and all sorts of other...” He sees Nanosounds’ expression, and stops himself from saying ‘monsters’, belatedly remembering her Siren powers. Rythian maintains that she’s still the most dangerous to deal with, even if the ruins mentioned others. “Things, basically.”

“Wait,” Nanosounds holds up a hand. “If she gets out, then she’s going to punch holes in the universe to let all the other stuff out of the other Vaults?” He can see her mind trying to think of what the tentacles she’s been calling upon belong to.

“Not exactly how I’d put it, but yes, that’s exactly what she’d do.” Rythian’s glad somebody gets it, and why he’s so afraid.

Like surprise, realisation strikes everyone.

It’d taken him months to decipher the last of the glyphs and longer to determine the final warning. By then, it’d been too late to change Atlas’ decision to open her Vault, lured by her offer to elevate Altas above the rest of the megacorporations (minus corporate greed’s involvement).

“Is that the only thing she can do?” Will inquires. He’s been taking notes jotted on the back of his papers (pinched from his trademark, silver suitcase). His glasses flicker with activity.

“She can peek into our dimension. If you’re in a Vault, she’ll exert a bit of a psychic influence, so no matter what she offers you, you can’t accept it. I made that mistake once.” Will and Nanosounds don’t know what’s on his back. He’s hesitating to show them; his back scars double as a warning and a reminder.

Rythian’s mind harkens back to the fragment of what he’d encountered in the Vault of the Sentinel. That one tiny fragment of a larger, destroyed artifact had presented him with an image of the future; he’ll never know what he’d been supposed to see, thanks to her subtle manipulation.

Well, she hadn’t predicted Teep being the one variable wrecking her escape. That tells Rythian that she couldn’t predict the future as accurately as she’d liked. The plan he has isn’t looking so flimsy after all.

“So she tries an alluring mindfuck of our deepest desires to hook us in,” Alsmiffy notes. “Anybody here get their jollies off being mindfucked by an alien? No?”

“No,” Trottimus firmly says right as that sentence finishes leaving Alsmiffy’s mouth.

“Just wondering,” Alsmiffy says. “We got to cover all our bases!”

“Why would you even ask that?” Ross pulls a disgusted face at him. “Filthy!”

“I’m just checking!” Alsmiffy says, with a defensive note in his voice. “Just in case one of us has a kink we don’t know about, promptly signs up and lets her go–”

“Let’s stop that, right there,” Trottimus delicately interrupts. “Nobody wants to hear about your ‘taken by the alien queen fantasy’, Alsmiffy.”

“It’s not my fantasy!”

“Can we negotiate?” Trottimus inquires Rythian, seeming awfully keen to move on as Alsmiffy and Ross start to bicker behind him. “She seems pretty sentient and intelligent, so maybe she’d see a point in surrendering?”

“Atlas and I already tried that, and it ended horribly.” Rythian’s back and shoulders throb with a phantom ache that’s not from the stitches Lalnable put in. “She’s pretty bitter about being locked away for so long, so anybody who’s got freedom to flaunt in her face is automatically in her sights.”

“Question!” Nanosounds thrusts her hand up into the air like she’s in a classroom. “How do you know so much about her and the Vaults?”

He’d expected that question to come up sooner or later. “The truth is,” Rythian inhales and exhales, “I’m one of the last Atlas scientists on Pandora, who was assigned to study the Vault of the Queen.”

“Why isn’t that Vault listed in the Hyperion databases or the info stockade? Hyperion seized everything Atlas had.” Trottimus leans forward. “And Hyperion’s got one of the biggest hauls on Vaults, thanks to their last CEO’s efforts.”

Rythian can’t help but laugh at how his own paranoia had paid off. “I erased every bit of info about the Queen from Atlas’ databases.”

“That’d explain it.” Satisfied, Trottimus nods. “You did a good job. I couldn’t find anything.” He frowns. “That still doesn’t explain how Sjin found it, though.”

“He has a Hyperion connection up on that mining rig of his,” Pyrionflax notes. “My little probe’s been tracking his accesses. He’s got a Hyperion higher-up sponsoring his plan.” Will’s pen tears across paper in jotting this down.

“Nobody in their right mind would sponsor a plan to wreck Pandora or Elpis!” Turpster nudges Sereno (who’s stopped smoking his cigar to intensely watch the projector). “Maybe Sjin’ll come to his senses!”

“And yet, here we are,” Saberial mutters out loud.

“You said she’s a creation of the Eridians, correct?” Will jumps into the conversation again. “Is she immortal or not? People would apparently pay big money to eat a Vault monster if they think its flesh would stop aging.” He hastily adds, “That’s just from browsing the ECHOnet. I’m not proposing anybody go out and actually do that.”

Rythian massages the bridge of his nose. “Yes, yes and no, and please don’t eat Eridian things, they’re not edible to humans.”

“What does that mean?” Will frowns. “She can’t be both.”

“If she’s in her own dimension, she’s immortal,” Rythian slowly says. “But if she’s in our dimension, then she has to follow our rules.”

“We’re definitely not going into her dimension then,” Honeydew mutters.

“Then how do we stop her if she’s immortal? We can’t just open the Vault to kill her if we manage to stop Sjin.” Nanosounds crushes a fist in her palm.

“Let’s just focus on stopping Sjin,” Rythian says. “But on the off chance that we fail and the Vault opens, we go to Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?” Nanosounds gives him a look.

Rythian waves a hand at the projector. It changes his sketch of the Queen to a list of names, places and a few lines of text, all tightly squeezed into whatever space is available on the page.

> Pardon my interruption and not to toot my own horn (if I had one and lungs), but I can make a better simulation.

Rythian blinks. That came from BebopVox, one of the few people who’ve been silent this whole time. “Please do, I don’t think anybody else can read my writing but me.”

“Yeah, and I’m wearing glasses and have the best ECHO eyes this universe has to offer,” Pyrionflax says.

“That was mean!” Zoeya says. “Rythian’s writing is perfectly legible! For example, I can see ‘Kraves, Peep,” She begins to read out loud.

“We get it,” Rythian says, hiding his list before she can embarrass him any furhter.

Half a second later, the sketch is replaced by a holographic image of the planet, complete with a tiny Elpis in orbit around it. A mining rig and Helios join the two. All four objects rotate in place. ECHO icons of people crop up, separated by location.

“This is Pandora.” Rythian points. “The Vault is located here.”

He forwards a set of coordinates (that he hasn’t used in over ten years but has never forgotten) to BebopVox. BebopVox zooms in on the site until there’s a grainy satellite image floating above the planet’s surface.

> I apologise, but this is the best image I could retrieve from what’s on Sjin’s laptop. The so-called ‘ANGEL’ satellite appears to have gone offline, or else I’d provide you with a better one.

“It’s fine. You can’t really see it from the air anyway.” Rythian points. “We can use the Fast Travel Network to get there. Once we’re there, we have to try to stop Sjin.” He sips water to revive his dry throat. “But if we don’t, then we bring in the big guns.” The mining rig spins.

Xephos slaps their forehead. “The mining rig laser! That’s got enough power to blow through half of Elpis if it has enough power!”

Rythian nods. “That’s the one. One shot is probably all we need to kill her.” He neglects to mention that it’d been Lalna’s creation, based on BebopVox’s finding that Lalna had made it. Everyone knows though, if the report’s circulated amongst people. “We need a team to break into the mining rig so we can borrow the laser.”

“I could hijack it from here,” Xephos says.

“You could?” Rythian eyes them. “It’d make things a lot easier.”

Xephos wrings their hands together. “I’m not sure if Sjin’s adjusted the security protocols after my last attempt.”

“Can you try?” Rythian inquires.

“I’ll see. It’s worth a shot.” Xephos extracts a digital keyboard, beginning to type. Honeydew hops off his bar stool, pushing a chair over for them to sit on. He brings over a foam topped mug of booze. “Thanks.” Xephos takes a sip, then promptly spits, spraying it onto the floor. “Honeydew, I don’t do alcohol!” Honeydew roars with laughter, grabbing a mop from Nilesy.

“Let me know if you need some help,” Pyrionflax reminds a glaring Xephos.

Leaving Xephos to it, Rythian continues his explanation. “Zylus has a ship that can take a team to the mining rig. Does anyone have any intel on how? My plan won’t work without it.”

> You will need to bypass the mining rig’s internal security and shield if you wish to take control of the laser, then adjust the trajectory to account for Pandora’s rotation.

The brief silence that meets BebopVox’s message tells Rythian that nobody understood that, and is waiting for a translation.

“The mining rig’s not just going to be sitting pretty for you to just walk in and take it,” Daltos explains. “Knowing Sjin, he probably left a couple of surprises prepared, so it’d be wise to send some extra people as backup.”

“Daltos,” Zylus begins, in a gentle tone that’s at odds with his pained expression.

“And I’m guessing that we’re going to need to take BebopVox along.” Ignoring him, Daltos crosses his arms over his chest. “They’re the only one who know how to calibrate a weapon of that size and caliber.”

> I was just about to propose that!

“Sorry for beating you to it.” Daltos shrugs.

> It is okay. <3

“BebopVox can’t possibly calibrate a laser on their own!” Pyrionflax objects. “They’re only human!”

“Um.” Xephos glances at Zylus. Zylus glances back.

“Why are you two looking at each other?” Pyrionflax leans back in their chair, glancing between the two. “Are you hiding something.”

“Bebop’s a love child!” Nanosounds gasps.

> I am?

“They’re not!” Xephos denies. “I wouldn’t have a kid with someone I’ve met only a handful of times!”

“Bebop, you can tell them if you want,” Zylus mumbles, looking down at the floor.

> I am not a love child! I am a Dahl military AI, whom Zylus has been protecting by keeping secret. I break this silence now to assist you of my own free will. Thank you for keeping your word, Xephos and Honeydew.

Xephos sinks lower in their chair. Zylus covers his face. The room explodes, questions hurled at BebopVox, Xephos, Honeydew and Zylus. Mostly, it’s people wanting to know how they’d sat on a secret for this long. The ones throwing questions at Zylus stop when Daltos glares at them.

Honeydew puts on a humbled act, acting bashful. “Well, Bebop and Zylus asked us so nicely that we couldn’t refuse!” His face lights up. “And Zylus had really nice cookies!”

“I can’t believe you still remember the cookies,” Xephos mutters. They gesture to Rythian. “Can’t hijack it,” They mouth, shaking their head. The keyboard’s swept away with a sweep of their hand.

Rythian winces, sighing as the meeting continues to be derailed. He mouths back, “Okay, that’s fine.”

Another ear-piercing whistle induces immediate silence. Lomadia lowers her hand. “I think we’d better let Rythian continue, before we run out of time.” People settle down again, ready to pay attention.

> Rythian, do you still want my help?

“Yes, we do,” Rythian immediately says, giving Lomadia a grateful look for intervening. “You’ve already been a massive help.”

> I apologise, but I’ve already run several simulations based on the people present for this meeting, based on your initial plan. Would you like me to provide the one with the highest chance of success?

“Please.”

Holographic ECHO icons of people shift, scattering across Elpis, the mining rig and Pandora. The only icon that’s missing is BebopVox’s. BebopVox substitutes a cartoon surveyor in place of themself. It sails to join the mining rig crew.

“Hey, it’s your ‘edgelord’ icon,” Pyrionflax notes with a small chuckle.

> :)

“How strong is that mining rig’s shield?” Minty asks while the ECHO icons are moved into place. She hasn’t spoken up in a while, merely listening.

> Based on the rig’s blueprints, it’s surprisingly high powered. Its capacity is a quarter of Helios’ one.

“What’ll it take to bring it down without wrecking the rig?”

> Do you have an idea?

“Concordia’s defensive cannons could probably do the job.” Minty’s gestures with a thumb over her shoulder. A white object flashes out of view. “We got about fifteen or so cannons here in working condition, thanks to three troublemakers.”

“That’s us!” Alsmiffy claims. He, Trottimus and Ross pass around handshakes amongst themselves.

> Can you please provide me the specifications of those cannons?

“I’m on it,” Pyrionflax lazily says as Minty turns to them. “I could send these blueprints in my sleep!”

> I shall need the two cannons at these coordinates. Why? They have the best chance of hitting the mining rig, given Elpis’ rotation and the rig’s position. Do you have people who can man those cannons?

“I do. Let me see if said folks want to do it. I’ll be back in a tic.” Minty exits the call. She returns a minute later with several people in tow, leaning down to fit into the ECHO device’s view. “This here’s Nathan, Dave, Rob, Hollie, Berym and Bluari. Say hi, y’all.”

“Hello!” Bluari waves, enthusiastically wriggling the fingers of one hand. They spot Alsmiffy, grinning. “I got your last letter, Alsmiffy!”

“Good!” Alsmiffy yells at the view. “Write back soon!”

“He has a penpal?” Ross scratches his head, looking baffled. Trottimus sighs.

> Let us talk in another chat about operating the cannons.

“Don’t forget my calibration software,” Pyrionflax adds as the people in Minty’s view exit the feed. “If you can fiddle with it, you don’t need me around to act as the targeting system.”

> Thank you, Flax. From the rest of you, I need everyone’s combat statistics pulled from your ECHO devices, including the pacifists.

“This info?” Xephos pulls up their HUD, sending over a screenshot with it highlighted. “Why?”

> I plan on running a final simulation. For accuracy, I need everyone’s information.

Everyone forwards it to BebopVox. Will helps Rythian find the feature, before going around the bar to help others, alongside Xephos and Saberial.

> Please bear with me for five minutes as I sort through all these. <3 I also see that the infamous Teep and HybridPanda have also provided both their information.

Heads turn to the back room’s doorway. Teep and Panda wave. Teep’s arm is encased in a cloth sling; their other arm is slung atop Panda’s shoulders. Ravs, Nilesy, Lomadia, Zoeya and Saberial hurtle across the room towards the two. Rythian reaches the two first by teleporting.

“That’s cheating!” Ravs hollers.

“Teep!” Rythian exclaims. Ravs swings a chair over. Teep takes it, slipping off Panda’s shoulder. Panda hovers by them, almost rather protectively.

“I changed my mind about being here.” Teep signs with one hand. The motions aren’t as fluid as they should be. They’re interrupted by Zoeya moving to carefully hug them. Saberial sticks with patting Teep on the shoulder, minding their arm and any injuries that can’t be seen.

“Panda, did you break them out?” Saberial asks, eyeing her sibling.

“Nope! Lalnable gave them clearance to leave,” Panda cheerfully says. The innocent grin doesn’t ease Saberia’s suspicion one bit. “You can ask him!”

“Should you really be here?” Zoeya’s tearing up at seeing Teep.

“Yes. You should get some eyedrops,” Teep signs.

“My eyes are fine! I just stared at the projection too much, that’s all!” Zoeya retorts, furiously wiping her eyes with a rainbow bandanna (the pattern matching Saberial’s headband).

Even when standing and with Teep sitting, Zoeya’s at the perfect height to hug them, hanging onto them. Saberial is on standby with a pack of tissues. Zoeya takes one and blows her nose, clutching the tissue as she tries to calm down.

“Told you I’d be back, so why spend all that time worrying?” Teep smugly signs. They pat her to indicate that she should let go of them. “Mind my arm.”

“I couldn’t help it!” Zoeya says. Rythian’s impressed at how she does it without sounding indignant. She releases Teep from her embrace. “You’re a natural troublemaker!”

“They are. Panda, you’re taking them back when the meeting’s done,” Saberial orders, pressing another tissue onto Zoeya when she sniffs.

“I’m resting in the Crooked Caber,” Teep interjects. “Never liked hospitals.”

“And Teep heals better when I’m around,” Ravs purrs.

“Would anybody like to confirm that?” Teep signs.

“I can change rooms!” Nilesy pipes up. He nods at Elsa. “Thanks, for finding Elsa.” He doesn’t notice that over in the far corner, Sereno pulls down his glasses. He briefly eyes Elsa with raised eyebrows before shrugging, replacing his glasses.

“I can sleep on the couch in the back room,” Teep signs.

“No need, you can share my cot,” Panda offers. Panda leans down to pat Elsa. They wince when crouching. “Ouch, bad leg day. Hey there, you seem super familiar…”

“Pass, I don’t know if you’ve ever changed the covering on that,” Teep signs. “Take your painkillers, Panda.”

“I change it once a week!” Panda pretends to be offended, shooting Teep an indignant look. “And I’ll take my painkillers in a bit, I just want to pat Elsa.”

“I change my three times a week,” Nilesy says, not wanting to be outdone by Panda. “Also, you owe me a hug for trying to fake your death,” He adds, in a sly voice.

“Fine.” Teep allows the careful hug, and delivers an amiable pat to an inquisitive Elsa staring at them.

Moving away from Panda, Elsa tries to hop onto their lap, waggling her butt in preparation. They bar her by patting her arching back. She meows, sadly. Nilesy attaches a sky blue leash to her gem studded collar.

“Sorry, she’s been super needy lately with people, some more so than others.” She spots Zylus and Daltos. Her ears prick as she strains at the leash, trying to move towards the two. Daltos is deep in conversation with Zylus. “Elsa, no, that’s enough scraps from people, you’ll lose your beautiful coat if you keep that up!” He drags her off, herding her up the stairs with her complaining loudly the entire time. A door closes.

“I’m happy to share with Nilesy,” Lomadia agrees. She gets a headpat from Teep. Her momentarily flustered expression is schooled back into neutrality within a second.

Turpster approaches the crew. “So, welcome back, you two.” He awkwardly says. “I’m still not arresting Teep, by the way.” Leaving it at that, he makes his way back to Sereno. Sereno pats him on the back for a job well done.

“Indeed.” Teep and Panda glance at each other, like they can’t believe Turpster apologised. Panda shrugs. Teep shakes their head.

Rythian leaves the group to return to the meeting. BebopVox’s running the show like they’re used to formulating plans of attack and defence. If it weren’t for their method of communicating, he’d have already forgotten that they’re not human. They really did have almost everyone fooled, thanks to Zylus’ efforts.

> I have prepared a possible list of suitable teams.  
> Elpis:  
Dave  
Nathan  
Rob  
Bluari  
Berym  
> Mining rig:  
Zylus  
MintyMinute  
Hollie  
Xephos  
Pyrionflax  
BebopVox  
> Vault of the Queen  
Rythian  
Ravs  
> I need willing volunteers to go to the Vault with Rythian and Ravs.

Before Rythian can voice his suggestions, Daltos speaks up, sounding affronted. “Hey, wait a minute.” Daltos turns to Zylus. “Why am I not going with you?”

Zylus guiltily lifts his head to look Daltos in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit,” Daltos snaps. The word pops like a horde of firecrackers that are detonating too close for comfort. “Zylus, I’m going with you.”

“You can’t,” Zylus says, in a voice so quiet that subdues any doubt that he’s not serious about his decision.

For a moment, Daltos acts like Zylus changed his mind, appearing satisfied. Upon replaying the two words, surprise flickers over his face. It’s gone by the time he steps closer to Zylus. Zylus stands his ground.

“Why?” Daltos challenges (in a voice identical to Zylus’ one, with a betrayed undertone he tries to hide, almost invisible, save for the few people who know him best).

> You need to stay to deal with your bandits located at the Vault.

“There’s no point. They’re already dead, just shoot them on sight. Doing that’s better than letting them suffer as they are!” Daltos argues. “You can’t do shit about chronic eridium poisoning–”

“Hey, Rythian!” Turpster lifts a hand to one ear. “Can I add someone to the call?”

“Sure,” Rythian says, and he can’t help that they’re about to be hit with awful news from the way Turpster frowns.

A grainy, live feed of Martyn pops up on the screen, bumping Minty, BebopVox and Pyrionflax’s aside (which all shrink slightly to accommodate him). A few Toms are gearing up behind him, murmuring in hushed, worried tones.

In the background, Trell and Elora are sitting on provided chairs. Both are downing water from canteens, alarmed tanned faces flushed with perspiration and dust.

Even if he’s never received a letter, Rythian recognises that a courier who’s out of breath is an ill omen to pay careful attention to. Trell and Elora wave at the feed. Parvis, Sparkles, Nanosounds and Will wave back more enthusiastically than everyone who’s ever dealt with the two couriers.

“Turpster!” Martyn grasps the ECHO device, holding it up to his face. It bobs erratically, the rim of his hat forming a shadow that adds several years to his youthful face. “I finally got through! Fuck the jamming on the Dust, been trying to get through to you for ages. You got a big problem–”

“Martyn, my lad, calm down,” Turpster soothes. “A problem’s not a problem until you panic–”

“I’m not panicking! I’m just very, very concerned,” Martyn cuts him off, pacing his sheriff’s office. “These two couriers on their graveyard shift tipped me off to a huge bandit convoy moving past Lynchwood a few hours ago.”

“Bandit convoys move all the time, and at night to avoid running into locals,” Turpster reasons. “What’s got you so worried about this one?”

Martyn swallows, then grits his teeth. “Ravs?”

“Yes?” Ravs calls from Teep’s side.

“You piss off any gangs recently?”

“That’s not sheriff language!” Turpster lectures. Martyn ignores him.

Ravs seriously considers the question for a moment. His brow furrows in concentration. The room holds its breath. Someone coughs. “Nope!” He cheerfully answers. The room breathes out. Someone (probably Parvis) applauds.

“Don’t celebrate yet. Does the name ‘Blitzkrieg Blighters’ ring a bell?” Martyn asks. “Elora asked where they were going, and the lieutenant leading them said that they were all headed to Sanctuary Hole. They didn’t elaborate.”

Following this bombshell, the effect on the bar raises a ruckus. Sheer panic catches and spreads like a lit match tossed into a grassland in the height of summer.

There’s too much noise and movement for Rythian to pick out who’s saying or doing what; it has him wincing, moving back to Teep’s side. A headache’s caging his brain in. Teep tilts their head to survey the scene with usual stoicness. They raise a hand to signal to Lomadia.

Lomadia’s second whistle blasts through the air, cleaving panic in the need for order. Absolute silence absorbs every conversation, soaking it up like a dry sponge left in a downpour.

“Daltos!” Ravs shouts. “Isn’t that your gang?”

Daltos stops arguing with Zylus to acknowledge Ravs. When he sees a sea of unhappy faces staring at him, he asks, “Yeah, what’s wrong?”

“Why is your gang headed here?” Ravs evenly asks.

“I didn’t order them to come here.” Daltos uncrosses his arms to stretch them; he’d had them crossed when he’d started trying to convince Zylus and BebopVox that he’s not needed on Pandora.

“You’re threatening my town!” Turpster storms over. His attempt to intimidate consists of leaning on the booth’s table, flashing his sheriff’s badge to sorely remind Daltos of who he’s dealing with.

Daltos’ expression clouds. He rises, sliding out from the booth to stand. “Well, well, if it ain’t the former sheriff of Lynchwood,” He drawls. “How’d you end up in this shithole? No offense to Ravs.”

“None taken,” Ravs warmly says. He’s moved to supervise the conversation, ready to intervene if needed (thanks to his bartender’s long honed instincts kicking in).

“Congrats, did your little deputy finally buy a conscience to kick you out at last?” Daltos jabs. Martyn’s mouth twitches at the rude comment but otherwise, he remains silent.

Turpster’s ruddy face turns as red as an overripe drakefruit. “Is this your revenge for me hanging your bandits?” He sneers. “You sneak in amongst us, play spy and then summon your bandits to attack when everybody else is busy?”

“It wasn’t me,” Daltos grounds out. “Besides, I actually give people chances to defend themselves before killing them.”

“I find that hard to believe, without proof.” Turpster looks Daltos up and down, his tone incriminating. “Until then, you’re now under arrest–”

“It wasn’t him.” Zylus steps between Turpster and Daltos. “Sherriff, he doesn’t have an ECHO device.”

“Really?” Turpster’s surprised expression turns a shade nastier. “Then explain how he told his bandits to come here.”

Zylus digistructs said ECHO device. There’s a single new message waiting to be read. Zylus doesn’t read it, tapping through to Daltos’ last ECHO call, dated months ago.

Turpster examines it critically, drawing back when he’s forced to believe that the ECHO device isn’t lying or fabricated. “Then what’s in the message?”

“Don’t read it,” Daltos says to Zylus. His expression changed when he’d spotted the sender. “Zylus–”

“It could be all the evidence I need to arrest him, or it could let him off the hook,” Turpster reminds. “Or do I have to arrest you for obstructing justice?”

Zylus hands the ECHO device to Daltos, finally returning it to him. Daltos stares at it, letting it sit in his hand. “Sheriff, I think you’re jumping to the wrong conclusions,” Zylus informs Turpster.

“I can vouch for Daltos,” Minty interrupts, having returned to her seat. “He wouldn’t do that.” Seeing Zylus visible confusion at how the two might know each other, Minty swiftly adds, “We were neighbours once, but that’s about it.” Zylus accepts this in silence.

“Can’t trust a former bandit’s word,” Turpster retorts.

Minty’s formerly black eyes burn an icy blue, catching Turpster in their intensity, freezing him into place. “Now you listen here, you drunk bastard, I might be a former bandit and I ain’t ashamed of my past one bit, but at least I don’t go around hanging folks who just happen to be doing their best to survive. I’ve known that son of a gun,” She pauses to tilt her head back, using her chin to indicate Daltos, “for years, and he ain’t the type to pull such an underhanded stunt.”

“He might not be, but that doesn’t change the fact that his bandits are on their way, right now, to harm my citizens!” Turpster bellows. Flecks of spit cake the floor.

“Martyn, you never mentioned how unreasonable this drunk is,” Minty observes, fingers curling around her face. Rythian absently notes that her middle finger is ever so slightly, extended in Turpster’s direction.

Martyn scratches the back of his head. The front of his hat falls to obscure his face. All of the sudden, he’s ten years older, fatigued by too many responsibilities heaped too soon on his shoulders. “Yeah, he’s like that sometimes.”

“That’s irrelevant!” Turpster gnashes his teeth, almost spitting fury.

“Still don’t believe me, even if you got a direct statement from both of us?” Minty crooks a finger to get Ravs’ attention. “Hey Ravs, he says your word’s shit too.”

“Mister Meriff, did I hear that correctly? You’re saying that my word’s as good as useless too?” Ravs nonchalantly glances at Daltos. He’s still looking at Zylus with something resembling panicked guilt on his face.

“That’s not what I’m saying–” Turpster tries to backpedal for forgetting that Ravs is a former bandit too. “All I’m saying is that–”

“I dunno, he attacked our dam and nearly won,” Sparkles points out. “His lieutenant said that he ordered it.”

Parvis smacks Sparkles upside the head. “It wasn’t him! Didn’t you hear Zylus? Daltos didn’t have any way to call anyone!”

“Once a bandit, always a bandit,” Turpster quotes, glaring at everyone who’s standing in the way of arresting Daltos. He ignores Ravs (or tries to, sneaking the occasional glance in like he’s angry for letting his prejudices get the better of him).

“Daltos. Did you do it?” Zylus asks.

The gentleness in his tone has Daltos’ expression closing off. He lifts his other hand, digistructing another ECHO device. Zylus stares at the two devices, then at his face. “I found it when I was cleaning that building in T-Bone Junction. I contacted my lieutenant a few times, but I never ordered him, or my gang, to attack the Bloody Bandits or Sanctuary Hole.” Daltos swallows, despawning both items. “Please believe me.”

A neutral Zylus turns to face Ravs. “Can we borrow your room?” Rythian tries not to fret about the use of ‘we’ in that sentence, or what it bodes.

“Sure,” Ravs automatically says. He blinks. “Wait, why?”

“We’re not going to fight, we’re just going to talk about trust,” Zylus grounds out, seizing Daltos by an arm. His grip encircles Daltos’ bicep, making him wince.

Daltos doesn’t resist, letting himself get dragged upstairs. The door to Ravs’ room slams a minute later. Muffled yelling escapes through the gap under the door. It’s barely audible to those on the ground floor.

Rythian pushes a reminder to BebopVox to continue.

> Well, that changes my simulation quite a bit.

“It also changes who’s going to the Vault,” Saberial says. She stands up from her seat next to Teep. “I’m staying to defend Sanctuary Hole.”

> May I please know who plans on staying and going?  
> Excellent.  
> Sanctuary Hole:  
Saberial  
Lomadia  
Teep  
Turpster  
Martyn (and Toms)  
Parvis  
Sparkles (including Kogie, Leo and rest of the Bloody Bandits)  
Kogie  
Leo  
Zoeya  
Nilesy  
Lalnable  
Benji  
Strippin  
> We shall discuss the proper combat arrangements and preparations once teams are finalised.  
> Vault of the Queen:  
Rythian  
Ravs  
Nanosounds  
Will Strife  
HybridPanda  
Trottimus  
Alsmiffy  
Ross  
Honeydew

“Wait, Lalnable’s not here!” Will objects, raising a hand. “He can’t join if he’s not here!”

“I have been, I just haven’t been inclined to speak up until now,” Lalnable testily says. “I’ve just been busy attending to this patient.” He secures a new bandage to Strippin’s chest.

Benji’s patting Strippin’s hand, murmuring soothings. Strippin’s parked in a booth. A mass of bandages wind around one shoulder and chest. He grips the booth’s edge, grunting a greeting. “Can’t do much with a hole in my shoulder, but we’ll help by playing sentries down below.”

“Lalnable!” Nanosounds bounds towards him. The second she catches sight of his injuries, she stops. “What happened to you?” Even if she doesn’t get along with him, she still thinks of him as Lalna’s precious sibling. Anybody who hurts Lalna’s precious sibling is dead to her.

“That’s not important,” Lalnable scowls like it’s of little importance. In a blunt tone, he asks, “Why are you all planning on fighting without a medic?”

“Are you going to be our medic?” Rythian asks. His team has Trottimus, but there’s just Lalnable to deal with Sanctuary Hole’s side of things.

“No, I’ll be receiving patients,” Lalnable snorts. “He’s your designated medic.” He points to Parvis.

Parvis grins nervously, then waves. “Hi.”

“Since when?” Will asks him.

“Lalnable taught me a bunch of things,” Parvis admits. “It ain’t much, I guess if it’ll help–”

“Parvis, that’s fantastic.” Will grins at him. “You’ve come a long way.”

“That’s my fucking line,” Sparkles says. “He used to hide in my tent whenever he heard gunfire. Now he just charges in with no fear!”

“About that–” Parvis tries to interrupt.

“Parvis, go to my clinic with some of your bandits and move as many supplies as you can into the Caustic Caverns. We’re using Zoeya’s building as a makeshift clinic.”

Parvis glances at Zoeya. She bobs her head in a nod. “I gave him the key to my place. It’ll be a lot safer than Three Horns!” The unsaid implications of bandits ransacking the clinic for supplies goes unsaid.

“Okay!” Parvis and Sparkles depart on their mission.

> Trottimus and Will Strife. I require you two to drop by T-Bone Junction after this meeting, with Zylus.

“For what?” Will asks.

“Yeah, why?” Trottimus echoes.

> I propose to replace your machines’ intelligence with trimmed down duplicates of myself.

“You can do that?” Will questions.

“I did it to Lalna’s Loader, and can certainly do so for your four machines.”

“How long will it take?”

> Ten minutes, each. I have already prepared copies of myself.

“Is everyone clear about what to do?” Rythian asks the room. He gets a chorused agreement from everyone, save for those absent. “Alright, we move out in an hour, so get some rest.”

People begin to move out of the Crooked Caber. Some stay, talking to one another. Nanosounds and Will are creeping towards the stairs. Rythian spots them, teleporting over.

“Where are you two going?” He hisses.

“Checking on Zylus,” Nanosounds says, with an innocent expression. “He’s been arguing with Daltos for a long time.”

“You know, making sure that the one person who can actually fly a ship isn’t going to die,” Will adds.

“Alright, alright, I get your point.” Rythian sighs. Nanosounds and Will creep towards the closed door. The two press up against the wood, cupping their ears.

Rythian stands close enough to pick up faint words. He hears ‘trusted you’, ‘shouldn’t have’, ‘bandits running wild’, ‘why not?’, ‘love’, plus a string of other, indistinct words. It’s not helpful without the rest of the context.

Nanosounds and Will nod to each other. Being closer, they can actually hear what’s happening. He’s a little curious though. The floorboard creaks under Will’s boot when he shifts his weight. Alarmed, he glances at Nanosounds. She gestures to stay quiet. A gap of silence follows. Her expression goes ‘oh shit’. The two move to retreat from the door when it’s tugged back.

“Did you know that eavesdropping’s fucking rude?” Daltos drawls. Behind him, Zylus holds his head to his forehead, nursing a headache. Zylus strides towards the door, heading downstairs.

“Hi, long time no see,” Nanosounds quickly says, trying not to look like she just got caught eavesdropping. Same goes for Will, who fixes his tie.

Daltos casually glances at the three Vault Hunters. “Shouldn’t you be preparing to storm that Vault of yours?”

“Meeting’s done, and everyone's getting ready. We just wanted to check on Zylus.” Will coughs. “Hey, uh, sorry about kidnapping you.” Rythian and Nanosounds stare at him. Will defensively says, “Look, somebody had to say it. Might as well be one of us.”

Rather than stare, Daltos raises a unfazed eyebrow. “I forgive you three.” He nods at the direction Zylus went off in. “Should be thanking you, actually. I wouldn’t have patched things up with him otherwise.”

“He asked us to kidnap you anyway,” Nanosounds modestly points out. She sounds like she’s trying not to sound so caught off guard. “So save your thanks for Zylus.”

“True.” Daltos moves past the Vault Hunters to head downstairs.

“Hey!” Nanosounds shouts after him.

He stops at the top of the stairs. “What?”

“Aren’t you gonna kiss your boyfriend goodbye? Since you’re not going with him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Daltos calmly corrects. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I got to stop my bandits.”

Nanosounds looks at Rythian, waggling her eyebrows. Will gestures. Rythian yanks Zylus back upstairs, right into Daltos. Their faces briefly collide, Daltos drawing back with evident surprise. He smirks. Zylus claps his hands over his mouth, mortified.

“Rythian!” Zylus shouts, rolling up his sleeves. Daltos shows on signs of stopping him, even giving him an encouraging push towards Rythian.

Rythian teleports himself, Will and Nanosounds out of punching range. The three wind up on the roof of the Crooked Caber, next to Teep and Panda. Will and Nanosounds shuffle back from the lack of a safety railing.

“Sup,” Panda greets while chewing. They don’t seem as worried to be sitting this high off the ground, as with Teep.

“What are you two doing here?” Rythian asks.

“Chilling,” Panda responds for Teep. “You want a piece of skag jerky? It’s Teep’s, but since I’m sharing, I want to share with you.”

“Fine,” Rythian says, accepting one. He sits with Nanosounds and Will.

“Hey, isn’t that Old Sereno?” Will points. “What’s he doing?” Said person is carrying a crate under one arm.

Sereno climbs atop a small wooden crate once he’s satisfied with placing it. He digistructs a megaphone (which Rythian recognises as being Turpster’s).

“Attention citizens of Sanctuary Hole! Since doomsday is arriving, I would you all to know that everything in the gunshop is now 100% off! Please help yourself to my goods, and thank you for buying!” He hops off the crate, hurrying back to the gun store as his announcement spreads faster than plague in a population of tussling skags.

A crowd forms. At the front of the mostly bandit crowd are Alsmiffy, Ross, and Honeydew. The three shove through to the entrance, diving in. Rythian teleports himself, Nanosounds and Will in.

Honeydew’s clutching his head. On the floor next to him is a rocket launcher with decaying strips of duct tape taped along its side. Rythian glances up. On the ceiling is a dusty imprint of where it’d once been taped.

Squinting, Honeydew scoops up the rocket launcher like it’s his precious, glancing around for anybody who has their eye on it. He drags it out the door, claiming that it fell on him, and that it’s all his. He returns a second later for round two, diving headfirst into the nearest crowd.

A bandit falls over. “There’s an ankle biter amongst us!” They scream. Bandits watch their shins and ankles.

Honeydew’s growing armful of weapons pokes elbows, knocking against bellies, stabbing unprotected crotches and rubbing against thighs. Waddling, Honeydew exits the shop with the toothiest grin on his face.

“Don’t come back, no refunds, and enjoy your new toys!” Sereno waves.

Looking like they’re in paradise, Alsmiffy and Ross are ransacking glass cases, stuffing as many weapons as possible into their inventories. People and bandits steer clear of the two, especially Ross.

Ross looks like he could tear someone in half with a single look, piling guns and accessories into his suit pockets. Barrels poke out of the front of his pants.

“My inventory’s full!” Alsmiffy cries in dismay. He’s clutching a bunch of Tediore shotguns to his chest. A bandit tries to take one. He just kicks them without turning. “Hands off the goods, or I burn you and your shitty encampment!”

Ross throws down a bulging, brown sack. Alsmiffy tips his haul into it. Rythian glimpses purple eridium chunks. He decides not to question what the trio are doing with the hazard that’s raw eridium, let alone mixing weapons with it.

Sereno huffs on a cigar, nodding to himself like he’s patting himself on the back. Nanosounds and Will join in the rush to empty the gun shop in record time.

Not as enthused about guns (and for the millionth time, Jakobs isn’t that shit), Rythian teleports outside to avoid being crushed, poked, shoved aside or trodden on.

Turpster’s coordinating the evacuation to the Caustic Caverns. Civilians laden with personal belongings and gear file onto the lift in small groups. Crates and supplies are being shipped down into Sanctuary Hole’s abyss by Strippin and Benji’s workerbots. The Bloody Bandits are arming Sanctuary Hole’s walls with turrets and traps, patrolling in nervous but excited groups.

On Lalnable’s orders, the ones still wounded from the dam battle (albeit unhappily) join the queue of civilians. Lalnable pings Rythian.

“Rythian, do you remember our last conversation?”

“If it’s about the stitches, I haven’t torn them yet,” Rythian says, assuming that Lalnable’s on his case. It hadn’t even been that long since he’d last seen him. Having seen the aftermath of tearing them (courtesy of Will Strife), he’s not keen to experience it first-hand.

“Yes, good,” Lalnable impatiently says. “But do you remember what I asked you to do about my brother?”

“Vaguely,” Rythian truthfully admits. Letting his Lalna centric rage simmer’s reduced the sharp edge of it. Now he just wants to slap Lalna hard before demanding the truth behind the backstabbing.

“It still stands.” Lalnable pauses. “If you can find it within yourself to remind him to come in for a calibration, that would be nice.”

Great, now Rythian feels twice as bad for wanting to hurt Lalna. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” Lalnable ends the call on a grateful note. Rythian stares into space for a few seconds. This Lalnable’s different to the one he and the others initially bumped into by accident in a small town down south. He doesn’t mind this Lalnable.

Parvis flags him down outside of the Crooked Caber, jogging over. “Hey, have you seen Will?” He asks, his tone every so slightly hopeful.

“He went to T-Bone Junction with Trottimus and Zylus,” Rythian says. “I think he’ll be back soon.”

“Okay, thanks! Tell him I want to sing him good luck!” Parvis jogs back the way he came, rejoining his lieutenants in a technical. With Sparkles at the wheel, the technical reverses, steering through a crowd of bandits hauling around supplies, tools and weapons.

In the Crooked Caber, Rythian finds Zoeya, Saberial and Lomadia trying to convince Teep to retreat to the caves. The three are failing, owing to Panda’s presence and Teep’s stubbornness.

“Teep, you can’t snipe in that state!” Saberial’s exasperation shows in her furrowed brow. Her hands are planted on her hips.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Teep flippantly signs.

“I don’t think that’s a wise decision,” Lomadia advises. Teep ignores her.

“You’ll break your stitches,” Zoeya points out, twisting her hands in her shirt. “Teep, please, come down to the caverns with me. We nearly lost you once.”

“Not yet, and no,” Teep clearly signs. “I still got one functioning arm and I’m mostly ambidextrous, so it’ll be fine.”

“You can’t be on the front lines,” Saberial stresses.

“That’s why I’m a sniper by default,” Teep signs back. “Just stick me on the side of a mountain.”

“I don’t get why you’re all making such a big fuss, Teep wants to fight, so let them fight,” Panda butts in. “And if they get hurt again, I’ll just point and laugh, then get to say ‘I fucking told you so.’”

“What Panda said,” Teep signs, indicating them with a flick of their thumb. They hold up a finger. “But what if I wasn’t alone?”

“What do you mean?” Saberial’s face adopts a thoughtful quality.

“Lomadia will be with me.” Teep nods at Lomadia, who seems surprised by the consideration.

“Well, I have seen her shoot,” Saberial muses out loud. “She’s not half bad.”

“She’s not just ‘half bad’, she’s my protege,” Teep signs, stressing the last word. “I mark, she shoots.”

“I’m very flattered that you consider my skills so highly,” Lomadia says, her face turning a slight pink.

“Yeah, they don’t give compliments that often,” Panda says. “I got to work for them.”

“It just goes to show that my compliments aren’t shallow,” Teep signs. “Besides, you’ve graduated, ever since you cleared Digistruct Peak.”

“We got to do that sometime, me, you and sis, it’ll be great!” Panda says. Maybe the idea of that challenge is what entices them to the training course of hell; their battle hungry, shit-eating grin’s back in full force. It isn’t time to go and fight the Queen yet.

“I don’t know, I still don’t like the two of you being in the mountains all by yourselves…” Saberial trails off. Everything that can and will go wrong’s evident in the lines of her frown.

“Mister Owl will be happy to chaperone,” Lomadia says with a straight face. There’s a beat.

“I wasn’t implying you and Teep would get up to anything!” Saberial’s face goes into mortified mode once the implication catches up with her. Zoeya stifles her laughter with a hand. Laughing, Panda slowclaps.

Teep stoically regards Saberial for a few seconds. “I’d laugh at you, but that’d make my chest hurt, so.” Panda’s slow clapping speeds up to full applauding.

“Forget I said anything,” Saberial mutters, throwing a half-hearted glare all around.

“So I’m good if I have Lomadia with me?” Teep signs.

“Since you’re being so insistent, fine, you can join the battle!” Saberial gives up, turning to the holoprojector that Sparkles let her borrow. “I’ll ask BebopVox to add you to their simulation.”

A realistic, miniature map of Sanctuary Hole within Three Horns takes up the bar’s counter. The landscape refreshes every few minutes as everyone wanders about, continuing preparations. Rythian spots his own marker inside the Crooked Caber. Zoeya does too. She waves. He joins her and the others.

“Rythian!” Zoeya beams. It’s good to see her smiling again. What is it about her looking sad that makes him want to headbutt whoever or whatever upset her? He can’t headbutt Teep, so he lets this one slide.

“Zoeya,” He acknowledges, watching Saberial begin a simulation of a battle. Tiny figures clash amongst fallen buildings, bodies and bits of destroyed scenery. “I hope you’re not fighting.”

“Because Saberial insists, I’m going downstairs soon, but I wanted to wish you good luck with the Vault and everything,” Zoeya says with an adorable pout, twiddling her thumbs. “And thanks, for being my friend.”

“It’s for your safety!” Saberial says without turning around. “She wants to stay here and help me, but she’d probably get hurt, and nobody wants to see me pissed.”

“Trust me, nobody really wants to see that happen.” Panda draws a line across their throat, pretending to be dead. They revive a second later, grinning.

“You don’t need to thank me for being your friend,” Rythian begins. He stops, upon seeing Zoeya’s shift in expression. “I mean, friendship isn’t–I do think of you as a friend–I’m not very good at this, am I?” He lamely says after failing to tell her how he feels.

“That was amazing to listen to,” Teep signs as Zoeya and Rythian stare holes in the floor, equally embarrassed. “You and Saberial should trade notes sometime.”

“Quiet, you,” Rythian deadpans without turning to them.

“What he said,” Saberial says as well, not sounding as cross as she’d been half a minute ago.

“Already on it,” Teep signs, saluting the two.

Rythian flicks through his inventory, drawing out a highly treasured personal possession. The pages crinkle in the air as he holds it out to Zoeya. “Can you look after this for me?” It’s his sketchbook. He’s kept it with him for years; it’s nearly full, what about ten blank pages left at the back. He’s not as guilty for leaving all those blank after all this time.

“This is your sketchbook!” Zoeya gasps. Her hands push it back at him. “I can’t possibly take this!”

“I need someone to take care of it. You’re the first person I thought of,” Rythian insists. To sweeten the deal, he gently adds, “It’s just until I get back.”

After thirty seconds of consideration, Zoeya finally takes it in her hands, holding up to her chest. She sniffs. Saberial automatically leans over to press tissues into her hand before continuing to talk tactics with BebopVox.

“You gotta come back, okay?” Zoeya clutches it tightly. “Or I’ll find your nude sketches of Ravs and send them all to him.” That earns laughter from those listening. Saberial even cracks a grin. Teep shakes their head.

“I’ve never drawn him nude!” Rythian splutters (he’s never managed anything past Ravs’ waist; or hopes that’s the case when she inevitably stickybeaks through his beloved sketchbook). “Well, maybe half naked, but never nude!”

“Then explain that sketch Nilesy showed off in one of the letters Ravs sent,” Zoeya slyly says, waggling her eyebrows. Her eyebrow waggling game might not be as strong as Saberial, Ravs or Nilesy’s but it gets the point across.

The sketch she’s referring to was a the spur of the moment one, intended as a special present for Nilesy’s letter. Rythian had assumed that Nilesy wouldn’t show it off. He’d also been so very wrong on that count.

“It doesn’t matter what I say or do in response to that,” Rythian sighs. “You already have your own conclusions drawn.”

The sketch wasn't even a nude one. It was highly detailed and lovingly rendered profile of Ravs’ broad and scarred back, done in the time waiting for him to get ready.

“There’s no shame in wanting Ravs to pose for you,” Zoeya whispers too loudly. “He’d be glad to.”

“Not a word of this to him,” Rythian threatens. “Or else I’ll tell everyone you like watching cartoons–”

“Rythian, you promised!” Zoeya exclaims, indignant that he’d dared to reveal one of her greatest secrets.

“I promised nothing of the sort,” Rythian gravely says. Mentally, he’s punching the air. “My, how the turned have tables!”

“Saberial, are you listening to this? Back me up, I do not like watching cartoons–” She turns to her girlfriend for moral support, only to find her trying not to laugh. “Hey!”

“It’s true! Zoeya likes cartoons!” Chuckling, Saberial pats her girlfriend’s hand. There’s no condescension in that gesture, merely warm acceptance. “Babe, there’s no shame in that.” Zoeya uses the sketchbook to hide her face.

“No shame,” Panda says, nodding. When Saberial’s not looking, Panda pulls a disgusted face at the casual affection their sister is showing towards her girlfriend.

“I don’t know these people,” Teep flippantly signs at Lomadia. “What a bunch of fucking nerds.”

“Indeed,” Lomadia signs in response, a content smile present on her face.

Every goodbye’s becoming tougher and tougher, but that one was his last. Rythian excuses himself. He hasn’t checked the back room or the kitchen yet. The back room is empty. In the kitchen however, Ravs is leaving instructions for Nilesy. Rythian restrains all intentions of intruding to hang back by the doorway, staying out of sight.

When Ravs is serious, there’s a distinct gravity to his accent. His words lack the subtle, playful quality that’s usually present. To Rythian, the flirting’s almost a class act (and sometimes, against all logic, he wishes that it’s not).

“Listen, Nilesy, if I don’t come back, I want you to have the Crooked Caber.” Ravs extracts a book from the back of a kitchen cupboard. The leather book is hand bound, strings that are falling apart looping along its bent spine. The title is painted on in white titanium, faded until it’s a ghostly impression on the cracked and bent cover.

“What’s that?” Nilesy points. The retrieved collection of cat pictures (once scattered around the bar) in his arms vanish.

By the doorway, Elsa winds around, in and out Rythian’s ankles, rubbing against his boots before padding into the kitchen to sit by Nilesy.

Ravs feeds her some mashed potatoes from a plate on the bench. She licks her chops approvingly, playing with a loose lace on his boot. Nilesy retrieves her (grimacing from effort), plopping her onto a chair to stay out of the way. Yawning, she turns into a loaf, tail dangling over the edge.

“This is my little black book. It’s got all my notes on moonshine, tricks, tips, plus my secret caches. Everything.” He smiles. “Well, almost everything, except for how to steal my heart.”

“I couldn’t possibly have it or the bar, since I know you’ll be back soon anyway,” Nilesy quickly says, nodding furiously. “I’ll just forget I saw where you keep your book, okay?”

“Oh, you!” Ravs scoops up Nilesy, lifting him off his feet in an arm locking hug. One of Nilesy’s loose sandals falls to the floor. It bounces underneath a bar stool. “It’s okay to hide if you don’t want to fight. There’s other people who can fight for for you.” He lowers Nilesy like Nilesy is made of rare, artisan crafted glass.

“I know, I know,” Nilesy says, pushing up his glasses to wipe his eyes. He still takes the book; he almost topples to the floor from how heavy it is. It disappears, despawning. “I just wish I was a little braver.” This is said in a small voice, as Nilesy proceeds to find his feet way more interesting.

With a giant smile (that makes Rythian’s own beating heart retract to the bottom of his gut), Ravs kisses Nilesy on the forehead. “You don’t have to be brave either.”

The sincerity contained in that sentence has Nilesy’s lower lip trembling. “See you later, Ravs,” He chokes out. With a straight back and not wanting to look back at him, Ravs leaves him to pick up his fallen sandal.

Before Ravs can bump into him, Rythian teleports to the entrance of the Crooked Caber. Teep’s gone, as with Panda and Lomadia.

Zoeya’s hand is linked with Saberial’s, her head resting on her shoulder. Saberial plays with her hair, the motion absent and tender to the point of making Rythian’s teeth ache from how sweet it is. The two have been nothing but kind to him. He doesn’t want to disappoint them, especially Zoeya, by not returning.

Ravs arrives. He smiles at Rythian. Rythian nods in greeting, exiting the building. He closes the door of his bar (and that might be the last time he’s doing so, by accompanying Rythian on this suicidal mission).

Outside under the starry sky, he can’t think of anything to say to Ravs. Should he say ‘thank you for everything’, ‘thank you for being here’, ‘thank you for being you’, or all of them? He tries to say Ravs’ name. It dies in his throat.

“Alright there, Rythian?” Ravs pauses to refill his canteen at the water tower behind the Crooked Caber. He takes a generous swig from it, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand after.

“Yeah,” Rythian distantly replies. He hates the mental block imposed by the fear of saying entirely the wrong thing. Ravs moves aside to let him refill his own canteen.

Ravs recaps and puts away his canteen, staring at him. His stare’s contemplative. A smile of the devious kind finds its way onto his face. Rythian tells himself that it’s to do with the plan.

Warm water grips his hand in a wet handshake. His canteen’s overflowing onto the concrete. Rythian pulls his hand back from the flowing spout. The lid of the canteen refuses to fit. Rather than waste the precious bounty inside by upending it, Rythian risks a sip.

Before he can, Ravs lays his hand atop Rythian’s. The angular curve of Rythian’s fingers fit neatly into Ravs’ calloused palm. The bandages encasing his own doesn’t stop Ravs’ hand warming his, wherever his skin is exposed to the elements. Ravs’ thumb brushes against his, to rest in the dip between his index finger and his own thumb.

“Can you close your eyes for a second?” Ravs requests, and Rythian obeys him.

It happens far too swiftly. The hand atop his is curling into his scarf, tugging his face down. There’s a soft, feather light pressure on his mouth, then nothing. He hears Ravs stepping back with a crunch of loose gravel.

Eyes snapping open, Rythian drops his canteen into his inventory, his hand flying to his mouth. “Ravs!” The lingering heat from Ravs’ hand all but pleasantly sears his cheeks.

Ravs carries himself with shameless dignity. He’s regarding Rythian with a satisfied smile. “I’m sorry I can’t give you anything else.” The smile turns apologetic.

“You don’t have to,” Rythian murmurs. The heat subsides to a tolerable ache. It slips down to settle by his still madly thumping heart.

The two of them are crossing the square when Turpster intercepts Ravs. He grumbles something about ‘good luck, and the town’s in safe hands’. It makes Ravs smile and give Turpster one of his crushing hugs. A disheveled Turpster’s left with a blush to rival Zylus’, hiding his face underneath his tilted cowboy hat.

The other Vault Hunters are gathered by the Fast Travel Station. Trottimus, Alsmiffy, Ross, Nanosounds, Will and Honeydew and Xephos are talking amongst themselves. Teep stands with Panda. Everyone’s said their goodbyes.

Xephos rises from a crouch after hugging Honeydew. Honeydew nods at the final rush of instructions and tips with a grin. “I’ll be back, friend, because you can’t hog all of the company stocks.”

“Message me when the time’s right,” Xephos reminds. Their blue eyes are filled with emotion.

Honeydew pulls his pants higher up. He slaps his ample belly. “Right! I’ll do you proud!”

“I know you will,” Xephos agrees. “And I’ll do you proud too.”

“That would have a different meaning if you left out the last two words,” Ross points out. Honeydew shoots him a scandalised look, earning a throaty guffaw. Xephos coughs.

Panda fistbumps Teep. “Stay safe, Green. I’ll kick ass for you, and you kick ass for me. Look after sis and her girlfriend, yeah?”

“Will do, and you too, John.” Teep turns to Ravs. They reach up to bend and pluck the black dogtag from Ravs’ borrowed necklace. They tuck it into the front of their jacket. “You don’t need that black one for luck.”

“I swear on my kilt that I’ll be back.” Ravs hugs them one last time, adding a fistbump once he steps back.

> rythian remember to watch your back

Rythian nods. That’s the kind of goodbye he expects of Teep. He rereads the message when he realises that Teep worked in a pun. Teep doesn’t react when his eyes narrow.

Ravs turns to Rythian. “Ready?” At his words, conversation around the two cease. A quiet sense of grim readiness suffuses the air around the Vault Hunters.

“Ready,” Rythian acknowledges. With Teep and Xephos watching, he carefully enters the Fast Travel code to the sandswept Deadlands, where Sjin and the Vault of the Queen are waiting.

\--

Sjin pauses at the door to the medical bay. The mining rig really isn’t equipped as a proper cryogenic facility but it’d still come with one capsule. Said capsule’s intended purpose was to freeze critically wounded patients until they’d receive the proper medical attention.

Suppressing a semi-hysterical giggle at its sole occupant (who didn’t even qualify as a real patient anymore, not in their current state), Sjin meanders through the state of the art room, past the Quick Change Station, the empty and ready beds, cybernetic workstations and doctor’s desks. The capsure is located at the far end, by the tinted window affording a view of Pandora (or Elpis, provided the rig is facing it) below.

The mining rig’s former owner had really outdone themself in getting it outfitted, sparing no expense. None of that atypical humming fills the air; the machines run in near-silence, removing several distractions in one go.

It allows Sjin a private, meditative moment to reflect on how far his plan’s progressed. His visits have grown frequent over the past few months. He’d be inclined to point at the tranquil nature of the medical bay as the reason why. The other reasons are too unsavoury and paint his character in a bad light.

“Hoisted by your own petard, in the end,” Sjin mutters. He’s so close to succeeding, almost tasting the bitterness of victory on his tongue.

He rubs at his head with his free hand. In his other is the stolen Vault Key which Lalna had dutifully delivered to him. To Sjin’s great disappointment, Rythian is still out there, no doubt planning payback. If Lalna was smart and had a shred of self-preservation, Lalna would have hightailed the planet. Not like that’d make any difference, even if he spreads a warning. The universe deserves what it’s getting (including him, Sjin), in due time.

The preserved body imprisoned under fogged glass continues to sleep the sleep of the dead. Their reaction to the theft of their plans has him grinning, almost regretfully.

Planted in front of the glass, Sjin raises his arms. He positions them at a slant towards the ceiling, both facing the same direction. Palms flat, fingers straight, with one arm bent in front of his chin, Sjin dips his head into the crook of his elbow. The gesture lasts for five seconds before he drops the stance.

Sjin departs the medical bay after five minutes, finally convincing himself that this is the path he must take. If he really tries, he can almost pretend that there’d been no blood on the glass to begin with, on his hands, or on the body’s chest.

The gun responsible resting in his inventory still has the bloody stain on its grip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (things are really heating up in the office now)
> 
> thank you to polishingopals, endragh, teagstime, doublearrows and siins for helping smooth this au out. this wouldn’t have happened without you peeps, so here’s my thanks once again. y’all are rad people.
> 
> this chapter serves to fill in the backstory about the queen, as told by (and from) rythian’s perspective. all those little hints about his former allegiance and how he met the queen can be found in ‘a bullet with your name on it’. hit that up if you’re super curious.
> 
> this is one example where reading the ‘btb’ fic helps to fill in the biggest gaps; i’ve done my best to summarise it for the people who didn’t get a chance to read that secondary fic without it being too spoilery (and vice versa). i recommend reading it, but it’s not absolutely necessary to understand what’s happening.
> 
> the queen is one of the more interesting beings within the borderlands universe. she is sentient, and it’s hard to answer if she’s merely an alien construct or a ‘living’ being. anything built or discovered by the eridians appears to fall into either category (the destroyer, the traveler, the destroyer, the sentinel, for example, are canon, known vault beings).
> 
> rythian was in the middle of answering those questions when atlas attempted to open her vault. he abandoned his efforts to answer those questions after the traumatizing incident, but it never completely left him, nor did he have the heart to destroy his entire life’s work (i.e., thesis, notes, and drawings). you can probably guess what happens next, because of that, when certain parties find it.
> 
> i’m in the process of starting to gather up all the loose threads happening in other fics to bring them over to ‘tlvh’, or at least, reference them in passing. it’s not a bad idea to start reading or reread the other fics just so you don’t miss anything. the blog’s ask box is always open if anything proves confusing, or you’d just like to know more about the setting, worldbuilding or characters!
> 
> we’re on the final stretch. are you excited? i’m excited! in total, there’s sixteen chapters. while this chapter marks a long-awaited return to ‘tlvh’, alas, there is one more ‘btb’ fic to be written. that means that there’ll be another break on ‘tlvh’, but after that, it’s pretty much the priority fic. zoeya’s almanac will be updated extremely sporadically as a result.
> 
> thanks for your patience, and for reading. as usual, doodles by the joyous siins are over [here](https://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/the-last-vault-hunter%3A-chapter-thirteen).


	14. Long Live The Dead Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING.
> 
> this is the third last chapter of ‘tlvh’, and is the climax of the entire story. expect your usual shots and punches in spades, plus a hefty dose of emotional damage and body horror. i can’t think of anything else to warn about, but if you think something should be tagged, please let me know!
> 
> doodles can be found in [this](https://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/the-last-vault-hunter%3A-chapter-fourteen) tag, done as always, by the eternal siins. thank you to siins, teagstime, doublearrows, polishingopals and endragh for all your efforts in making this happen.

In the Deadlands, where nothing ever grew, existed a prison buried beneath the sands. Inside, a being languished in their dimensional cage. The prisoner ached for company, tired of their own thoughts and musings. For eons, Guardians were the prisoner’s only company, hollow and mindless puppets vainly molded after her creators’ image. A dead legacy, and a pointless one that the prisoner still scorned.

Time passed. The prisoner measured its flow in increments. Through her extraordinary sight, she studied the appearance of lower lifeforms. The prisoner never envied them, their lives so brief, extinguished before their true time. Each existence she watched were miniscule drops in a vast ocean that spanned finite galaxies. The prisoner grudgingly conceded after a few millennia that these ‘existences’ held the key to her freedom.

These lifeforms evolved, flourishing and spreading across the universe, like creeping moss growing in a dessicated, abandoned birdbath.

Certain lifeforms grew curious about her creators’ mysterious origins, and so, these scholarly ones sought knowledge. To her frustration, these so-called ‘scholarly’ lifeforms bickered and squabbled amongst themselves, trading theories, ripping apart what opposed their own beliefs, picking petty fights and scrubbing progress for every advancement, moving backwards instead of forwards. Wars erupted. Civilizations crumbled. Monarchies rose and were executed. Swathes of lifeforms extinguished themselves (or each other) in the blink of an eye.

She waited still. And waited. Waited. Her patience paid off when a group of lifeforms arrived beyond her door. She never quite slept; the Eridians had taken away the sweet escape of sleep as part of her indefinite confinement. Her jailors hid the key well, but not well enough. They’d been merciful not to rob her of her sights too. The lifeforms picked up on her hints, unearthing the Vault Key from its concealed sanctuary.

The lifeform who’d carefully piece together her clues took to conversing with her. He spoke her ‘mother’ tongue, his mortal accent adding a spin that made certain words bloat, caving them in other places, sharpened vowels and destroyed, sometimes. His attempts were commended, however. No other lifeform who’d arrived with him extended the same courtesy, preferring to converse in their own crude, simplistic and limited tongue. If she’d cared like she once did, she would have been offended and ceased all interaction.

Her loneliness dug its claws into her. She reached out. He studied her. She studied him in turn. They traded scraps of knowledge, thirsty for each other’s perspectives and thoughts.

His colleagues found his swift, comprehending mind alienating. They found her intimidating and fickle, difficult and imperious. Before long, he started to spend his lonely nights camped outside her door. At the start, she’d tried to subvert his sense of direction, exercising one of her remaining abilities that she hadn’t used in centuries. A test, of sorts.

To her delight, he persisted where others grumbled and surrendered. She let him into her main chambers after spending four of his hours turning him in aimless circles for her own personal amusement. She permitted him to spend Pandora’s night cycle in her company. The two of them talked of many things. He stopped briefly to sleep, curling up under a traveler’s brown coat. His hands, spare uniform and bag were his pillow. She would have puppeted a Guardian to tug the purple scarf back into place, if she wasn’t concerned about scaring him off with her servants.

His sleep proved fascinating to probe with her rudimentary telepathy (which was more finely tuned to that of the Guardians she controlled). In the future, she’d inflict horrible reminders of herself into his restless dreams until he took that away from her too (exactly like the Eridians had).

When morning broke, he reluctantly returned to the other lifeforms. He ignored the verbal lashings from his superiors for vanishing too long a period and without warning. His superiors understood eventually (bah, such slow minds compared to his) that she preferred him.

With every tidbit of life he shared outside her Vault, she grew impatient. Soon, she turned bitter and resentful; why should these petty, squabbling lifeforms be free to roam as they pleased? Surely she deserved that too; her only crime had been to utilise her knowledge to advance Eridian civilisation. Her final and finest creation had linked dimensions, proving a final theorem (of her own creation). It’d been ironic that they’d used her own knowledge to seal her away.

What they hadn’t realised that by allowing seeds of life all over the galaxy to sprout, evolve and advance, they’d inadvertently given her a way to escape. All she had to convince one to open her Vault. It seemed almost too easy to promise everything she knew to the one who wanted to welcome her into his universe. She suggested it to his superiors, and sat back to watch the machinations unfold.

She almost succeeded. One snag foiled her. He changed his mind once he realised her true intentions. Rythian may have bid her a painful, traitorous goodbye, but he hadn’t seen the last of her yet.

The Queen could stand to wait almost another decade or so for her next chance at freedom.

\--

– / / DiNoScope is now online. / / –

GodOfArrows: looks whos come crawling back bc they missed me

DiNoScope: stfu

GodOfArrows: WOW IS THAT HOW YOU SAY HI TO YOUR BESTIE AFTER FIVE PLUS YEARS OF RADIO SILENCE

DiNoScope: youre absolutely right that is no way to say hi to you

DiNoScope: stfu u fucking pleb

DiNoScope: is that better

GodOfArrows: much better

DiNoScope: heres a cheat sheet for you about this fucker youre about to fight

GodOfArrows: excuse me i dont think i need a cheat sheet for the final boss

DiNoScope: lol okay i hope you get fucking wrecked then

DiNoScope: were talking about hardcore no death dank souls level run here

GodOfArrows: ON SECOND THOUGHT GIMME THE SHEET

DiNoScope: no

GodOfArrows: i will beg

DiNoScope: please dont beg

GodOfArrows: oooh please give it to me

GodOfArrows: im always a slut for you

– / / DiNoScope has removed ‘GodOfArrows’ from the chat. / / –

– / / FiZone joined the chat. / / –

FiZone: teep pls put them back in the chat bc i cant concentrate on bebops stimulations while panda is spamming me

FiZone: STIMULATIONS

FiZone: FUCK I MEANT S I M U L A T I O N S

FiZone: dont you dare laugh or i will fly up the mountain and fist you

FiZone: NOT FIST YOU

FiZone: P U N C H  YOU

FiZone: DID YOU CHANGE MY TEXT SHORTCUTS

DiNoScope: not this time since that was all zoeya

FiZone: did you teach her

DiNoScope: i dunno maybe she taught herself after watching me make mine so many times

FiZone: there i undid them :p

DiNoScope: well after dealing with ravs my entire life my body is more than prepared to deal with a thorough fisting from you

FiZone: itll be more than my fist if you dont stfu

DiNoScope: …

FiZone: i

FiZone: wow

DiNoScope: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

FiZone: just put panda back in the chat already

DiNoScope: fine

– / / GodOfArrows joined the chat. / / –

GodOfArrows: ilu always and ever

– / / DiNoScope has removed ‘GodOfArrows’ from the chat. / / –

FiZone: teep

DiNoScope: f i n e

– / / GodOfArrows joined the chat. / / –

GodOfArrows: <3

DiNoScope: </3

GodOfArrows: :(

DiNoScope: <=3

GodOfArrows: c===3

DiNoScope: <====3

GodOfArrows: c=====3 

FiZone: c/=====/3

GodOfArrows: YOU BROKE MY DICK

DiNoScope: you interrupted the dickfest

FiZone: you two werent gonna stop!

FiZone: if you got any last words now is a good time for them

DiNoScope: you two dont need good luck you just need better aim

FiZone: i cant tell if you believe in us to that extent or if youre just being an ass

GodOfArrows: are those your last words for me

DiNoScope: no my parting words to you are git gud

GodOfArrows: good bc if you starting being sappy i would rather eat my cybernetic eye

FiZone: good luck to you two! i know we’ll all come back from this and we’ll all be together again!

DiNoScope: does this mean youre voring yourself

FiZone: PANDA NO THATS A BAD

GodOfArrows: DOWN THE HATCH 

FiZone: NOOOOOOOOOO

GodOfArrows: im kidding

DiNoScope: <3

GodOfArrows: ill bring back some sweet trophies or you can wreck my ass in person. <3

DiNoScope: bring me some shaker waffles fries on the way back from that one diner you trashed

GodOfArrows: i only got ten bucks bro

DiNoScope: then a thorough fisting from saberial will do

FiZone: youre  _ hideous _

GodOfArrows: WHAT ARE YOU TWO INTO BC THIS IS SOME WEIRD KINKY SHIT AND IM NOT PREPARED TO TALK ABOUT MY SIS OR TEEP’S KINKS BEFORE I DIE

FiZone: PANDA IM GAY AS FUCK AND YOU KNOW THIS BETTER THAN ANYONE BUT IM NOT INTO FISTING

DiNoScope: not with that attitude

FiZone: teep you can run but you cant hide from a punch

DiNoScope: you mean a fisting

FiZone: PUNCH

DiNoScope: rip me then

GodOfArrows: are you telling me that fisty will be your doom

DiNoScope: im saying rip to myself bc saberials punches are as kidney damaging as ravs ones

FiZone: its good to be feared but maybe not for fisting

GodOfArrows: rip to us all

DiNoScope: rip indeed

– / / FiZone is now offline. / / –

– / / GodOfArrows is now offline. / / –

– / / DiNoScope is now offline. / / –

\--

Rythian reconstructs in an empty, desolate canyon. An emotion he can’t name stirs at the back of his throat. It scratches at his mind, triggering a basal anxiety. His breathing staggers. A hand grabs the front of his shirt, driven by muscle memory. It clutches at air, useless and a sore reminder at what’s missing. The Vault Key’s with Sjin now, and that’s why he’s here: to get it back, provided this is the right place, that is.

A cursory check of the coordinates implies that someone’s moved the Fast Travel Station back. It’s no longer in the middle of the site, now occupying its own space in the sloping, twisting and turning abyss formed of stacked layers of sandstone, rocks and rubble. Wind and time eroded the foundations to expose the paler sandstone beneath.

One by one, the other Vault Hunters appear. As the first to arrive, Rythian takes stock of his surroundings. Directly behind him lies the harshest ocean of sand on Pandora, consisting of sand so parched and rough that any plant or stone erodes to nothing but grains in a matter of months than centuries.

It made sense to imprison the Queen in a place where it’s impossible for anything to grow, so that the chance of discovering her’s almost nil. He doesn’t want to brag or anything, but finding her had been a result of his sheer persistence.

The obscure Eridian scripts whispered of a great boon, a fountain of knowledge so valuable as to be incarcerated for fear of abuse. As he painstakingly hunted for leads in the archive of xenoarchaeological scans Hecate’s universities maintained, it’d bothered him that the translation had been exceedingly precise. ‘Incarcerated’ implied sentience. He now sees that Eridians had done it for a reason.

Rythian’s embarrassed by how naive he’d been. His thesis explored what a discovery of this treasure trove of knowledge would do for humanity. Still, his initial predicament’s shifted over the years, yielding certain benefits as he’d grown to accept the bitter reality befalling him. He can’t change the past, though it’s changed him.

Ravs lands, cutting a confident figure. His kilt loosely flaps around his knees in the dry wind. The string of dogtags around his neck jangle, settling against his bare chest. A quick, cursory glance checks his surroundings. Finding no enemies waiting in ambush, he relaxes, joining Rythian. Ravs exudes a restless air, ready to take on anything. Rythian tries not to stare at his grinning mouth, thinking of their last, shared gesture. His heart’s melting inside his chest. He wouldn’t still be alive if it weren’t for Ravs and Teep’s combined efforts.

Teep isn’t here. The two of them accepted that upon leaving Sanctuary Hole. Rythian blocks his thoughts from going to the town’s upcoming battle with Daltos’ bandits. There’s no point to pointlessly distracting himself. Everyone who stayed behind to fight knew the risks. Or maybe he’s trying to be optimistic. That’s something from Ravs that’s rubbed off him.

After Ravs, it’s Nanosounds. Nanosounds consults her ECHO device and HUD for a few seconds. She stows it in her inventory, dropping low to stretch on the spot, huffing and puffing. Her nervous energy’s nearly contagious. Rythian considers her and Will Strife to be true friends.

Reflecting back on his initial attitude towards her makes him cringe, hating his past self. She doesn’t need a careless remark from him to praise that she’s more than Siren powers. She already knows it. Besides, what would he know about being a Siren?

Lagging a second behind Nanosounds, Will Strife lands. He polishes his sunglasses on the sleeve of his shirt, blowing on the lens. He adjusts the knot of his black tie (which is sporting a nearly invisible set of impeccable stitches). Once his sunglasses are back in place, he turns to Nanosounds, giving her a small smile.

She returns it, punching him in the arm. He winces, rubbing at where she’d punched with a hand. She also mutters what looks like ‘don’t be such a big sap’. He laughs, lifting one hand to his ear to listen to his HUD. After a few seconds, Will wipes his eyes with a cat patterned handkerchief. He mock grumbles about ‘how much Parvis sings out of tune when he’s all teary’.

The rest of the crew arrive with a delay of a few seconds between each spawn. Panda moves away to finish their own goodbyes and preparations, as with Honeydew and the HatCorp. trio.

Trottimus, Ross and Alsmiffy abandon their private, loose huddle to join the others. Trottimus is escorted by a single surveyor. It vibrates in the air, its engine a soft drone against the faint wind. Its blue eye swivels up, down, left and right, sweeping the terrain. It flies up to perform one last check on everyone present. Trottimus spawns the other two surveyors. The two stay at head height, facing the front and back.

He healed almost everyone’s wounds with that medical surveyor of his. Rythian declined the treatment, not wanting to interfere with Lalnable’s stitches currently holding his back together. He can’t deny how useful that surveyor’s going to be.

“Hey, do your surveyors have names?” Nanosounds inquires. Her voice snaps the silence over her knee. Will jerks in surprise, looking around; he looks annoyed for being too jumpy.

Trottimus looks taken aback by the random question before grinning, a tad smugly. Whatever animosity between the trio and her have been put aside for the greater good.

“They do!” The three surveyors turn as one synchronized unit. “This is Helga, who has the highest accuracy!” He indicates the one with the red stripes. “Eric is the blue, and my main healer.” Eric turns in the air, mutely facing Nanosounds. “And lastly, the green one is Her, she has the best attack stats!” He beams at Nanosounds with an absurd amount of pride. “They’re actually all identical, but I like to think that they have their own quirks.”

“They’re all very impressive!” She manages to compliment, fighting her laughter. Her cracked lip shakes. Ravs and the others are grinning.

“Don’t ask why the green’s called ‘Her’, it’s a long story,” Alsmiffy grumbles, tuning his gloves with a few twists of the dials on the sides.

The vents on his palms click like a timer as he tests them. The fire spewing gloves are bulkier than Rythian remembers, polished to a lethal gleam of metal, insulated on the outside and inside with heat resistant material. Digistruct modules welded onto the wrists boast extra capacity for grenades and gas, adding to Alsmiffy’s destructiveness. It’s inventive, to say the least.

“Because he’s a narcissist, he wanted to call it ‘Alsmiffy the second’, but Trott wouldn’t let him,” Ross reveals in a loud, teasing whisper. Alsmiffy huffs at this like it’s too juvenile an idea. “He sulked for two days until Trottimus let him use firecrackers at a heist.”

Ross’ neck is missing the silver collar he’d been wearing at Opportunity. Free of it, he raises a hand to scratch at his neck, yawning. His enormous teeth causes Will to step behind Nanosounds. Will tugs at his own collar. Ross doesn’t notice, wrinkling his nose.

Panda appears between Ross and Alsmiffy. The two smartly step clear of them. Panda’s a stranger to Rythian and the others. They’re here in Teep’s place. Rav trusts Teep’s decision; Rythian, less so. Panda nearly killed Teep. Teep’s vouched for them so Rythian has no choice but to let Panda join.

With one hand, Panda reaches for their eyepatch. It falls away in their hand. Underneath is a high-tech cybernetic eye. It’s as blue as Rythian’s own eyes. A black Hyperion shotgun embossed with red stripes rests in a back sling. Tucked against Panda’s hoodie, Conference Call is ready to be drawn any second. A knife is strapped to Panda’s belt beside their digistruct modules. 

Panda cricks their neck, rolling their shoulders. They’re awfully chill about entering a fight that they might not walk away from, in spite of their adventurous, violent background.

Honeydew is the final member of the party. He hurries over, his thick beard braids flapping along his chest. He wields a diamond shovel. He shambles clockwise in a loose circle. He lowers the shovel, still keeping it aloft in one sweaty hand. Well, he’d finally found a Vault, though probably not in the way he’d initially expected.

Rythian permits himself a quiet chuckle; everyone arrived, thinking that they’d be met with immediate resistance. Nobody wants to be caught by surprise. The lack of an ambush is suspicious. The easygoing atmosphere gives way to one of seriousness when he moves to investigates the marks on the ground.

Bootprints lead to where the path dips, curving around a sharp bend in the rocks. Ross sniffs the air, inhaling deeply. He grimaces as he reports, “Phew, lots of weird smells ahead.”

“What kind of smells?” Trottimus inquires, his tone impatient for details. “People or what?”

“Bandits, mostly.” Ross perks up, a shit-eating grin appearing on his face. “And one Sjin! And someone else I can’t place. And another person, who smells like pricey show dirt. It seems familiar.” Not remembering, Ross shrugs.

“We’ll worry about who all those other people are later,” Rythian decides. “We need to get to the Vault.”

“You go first, I’ll be right behind you,” Ravs says, with a wink. He’s trying not to be too serious about being here, lightening the mood.

Rythian chooses not to respond, taking the path. This leads to the former Atlas dig site that’d he spent more than a year at, trying to complete his painful thesis–  _ where _ in the fucking hell is his thesis, anyway? It must be in Sjin’s possession; he’d spotted a few noteworthy scans of the crowded pages in BebopVox’s short report.

His motley party enter the deeper canyons. It’s still dark, and Elpis’ moonlight doesn’t travel past the rocky edges, pausing. Sand trickles over them as a stray breeze nudges the loose grains over. Uneasy about the amount of bootprints increasing, and how erratically placed they are, Rythian almost walks into a translucent barrier. 

Trottimus’ surveyors adjust into a triangle, arresting him by the scarf with their combined tractor beams. It’s like being held by phantom hands.

Ravs nimbly sweeps him back, his hand on Rythian’s elbow. “Careful!” He murmurs.

“Thanks.” Rythian shoots him a grateful look. Ravs raises an eyebrow, staring at the barrier. He lets go of Rythian. The surveyors release him, drifting back into watchful positions.

“Stand aside, breaking and entering professional here!” Trottimus ambles forward to investigate. With a single appraising look, he draws himself up, chest puffing out. In a pompous voice, he breathily announces, “Present the Hand of Truth!” Nanosounds, Honeydew and Will stifle unmistakable giggles. Panda snorts.

“Not the Hand of Truth!” Ross gasps, in an obviously fake falsetto. Alsmiffy trumpets a few ‘cherubic’ noises through his gas mask. It sounds like he’s blowing a bunch of raspberries into a squashed balloon.

“The Hand, lads,” Trottimus gravely intones. “Now! Time is critical!” He cries, holding out his hand. His three surveyors use their eyes as spotlights. The lights spread amongst all the Vault Hunters before settling on Ross.

He bows, rotating his wrist like presenting a towel to a restaurant patron. From nowhere, Ross produces a stick with five branches tapering off like a Rat’s double jointed fingers. The Hand of Truth is gaudily spray painted in faux gold. He passes it to Alsmiffy, who brings it to Trottimus like he’s transporting a precious chest of a thousand carat space diamonds. Where, why and how Ross got a stick (plus what he’s doing with one), Rythian doesn’t know. 

With Ross and Alsmiffy providing backing beats suitable for a war chant, Trottimus jabs the stick into the barrier. Ross and Alsmiffy shut up. Everyone holds their breaths. Even the air is still. Nothing happens. 

“Talk about anti-climatic,” Ravs comments, chuckling.

Grinning, Trottimus turns to the other Vault Hunters. “We can pass through this–” With a snapping noise, the stick disintegrates, including all five gnarled digits. All that remains is a blackened stump. The air instantly fills with a putrid, eye-watering chemical smell. “I take that back,” Trottimus notes. He sheepishly returns the stick to Ross. Ross gives it a mournful look before shoving it away.

“It was for a good cause, Ross,” Alsmiffy comforts, patting Ross on the shoulder. “And it burned up nicely,” He mutters under his breath.

“I know,” Ross sighs. He doesn’t appear to have heard Alsmiffy’s pleased muttering.

Nanosounds clears her throat. “I totes  _ got this.” _ She cricks the back of her linked hands, rolling her shoulders about. Stretching out a hand, she narrows her eyes. The light from her glowing Siren tattoos throws a purple hue over those closest to her (Will Strife and Panda shuffling back to give her room).

On the other side of the barrier, a spiked tentacle that’s twice Rythian’s height and three times as wide as Ravs slides out of a goopy black puddle. It thrashes in the air once, before sensing the barrier’s gate. With a bone crushing swing, the deadly spikes puncture the barrier.  Nearly all the spikes snap and crack off. 

With an irritated air that it didn’t succeed, the tentacle curls and demolishes the barrier with another swing. The barrier fades, its sides fizzling. Content that its job is complete, tentacle withdraws into its puddle. The puddle fades, leaving a faint purple residue resembling spilled oil behind. The smell of synthesised fuel remains.

Nanosounds takes a shallow bow. “No need to thank me, I’m just doing my job,” She smugly says, stepping through the created opening. “No need for an autograph, and no flash photography allowed!”

Alsmiffy mutters as he passes, “We should bring her along on our next heist.” Trottimus and Ross make noises of agreement. Trottimus’ surveyors drift overhead, keeping the path lit.

“That was a really expensive barrier,” Trottimus points out. “It was designed to keep everything out. Or in. Who’d bother putting up a barrier all the way out here?”

“Was that barrier here before?” Ravs pins Rythian with a questioning look.

“No, it wasn’t,” Rythian responds after consulting his memory. Atlas didn’t bother with that kind of security in an obscure, remote area like this. He could have also teleported in and opened the gate, but Nanosounds had taken the lead before he could. Showoff.

“I think we have our answer,” Will says, in an awed voice once they’ve all left the destroyed barrier behind.

The original Atlas buildings are still intact. There’s the barracks, the equipment and supply shed, the laboratory and artifact storage. Everything, from roof tiles and metal struts, window frames and abandoned cases sport decades of rust and wear. The site is almost perfectly preserved, save for two new additions.

The Tediore made atrium occupies a left clearing, which wasn’t here before. A wall of solidified rock used to stand in its place. The people living in the atrium are scattered throughout the clearing: bandits.

A buttload of bandits lounge around the clearing, surrounding a gesticulating figure. It’s Sjin. As the Vault Hunters enter, Sjin’s face contorts into a frown. Rythian can see the Vault Key signature light coming from one of his hands. Rythian moves to teleport; again, Ravs stops him. All the bandits turn to face the Vault Hunters. The air intensifies with an aura of wariness on both sides, tension building.

“Don’t spook the bandits,” Ravs warns in a calm whisper.  “Something’s off about them.” His hand is warm on Rythian’s back, even through Rythian’s coat.

“You should listen to your friends, Rythian!” Sjin taunts. His voice is amplified through the speakers bolted to the top of the atrium. He backs towards the sloping entrance to the Vault of the Queen. That way is marked by symmetrical sandstone Eridian carved pillars.

“Give the Vault Key back to Rythian!” Nanosounds shakes an irate fist at Sjin. Sjin’s expression falters when he sees her. His eyes flick to Will.

With a grunt of effort, Will catapults his turret with an overhand throw. It spins, edge over edge. His Atomic turret unfolds mid-air, attaching on the side of a building. It’s bulkier than the one Rythian remembers. It boasts a second machine gun, two side missile launchers, a laser pointer and a personal shield. The red shield pops up over the front and sides without impeding the main guns.

“Protect me!” Sjin shouts. Bandits cluster in front of him, drawing guns and tools.

“Prioritize Sjin, but don’t wound him!” Will orders his turret. The turret locks onto Sjin’s head. Sjin ducks. “I said don’t wound him!” Will sighs in exasperation as bandit falls with a burst of gunfire. Sjin flees towards the back of the site, letting bandits trying to protect him fall in his wake.

“Get the key!” Rythian relays his own orders; the Vault Hunters split up.

“Kill the Vault Hunters!” Sjin counters. He glances back. The rest of the bandits spread the message amongst them, shouts drawing attention and awakening reinforcements.

Nanosounds makes a noise of mild horror at the Goliath shuffling out of a crudely built garage. The Goliath’s sickly skin is mottled with purple, stained as bright as her distinctive Siren markings. Half the bandits lack the mutations, hanging back. The other half blindly charge in. Other Goliaths arrive, hauling mining equipment and gear. All remove their plated helmets, heads on their bony stalks rising to scope out the Vault hunters.

Rythian pops off a teleport, intercepting Sjin. Sjin yelps, diving past him. Rythian slams headfirst into a  _ shield. _ Stars and dots mar his vision; he retreats to Ravs’ side, holding his aching head. Ravs is in the middle of engaging a mass of groaning and rambling bandits.

“Oh dearie me, I know these bandits,” Ravs mutters. He snaps someone’s neck, dropping them. 

He tears a rampaging Goliath’s head from its fragile spine, his new shield protecting his hands from the resulting mess. That said, his hands are coated in another layer from Pun-chee. Ravs is definitely hitting harder; it’s taking him less swings to beat down his foes. He’s hardly breaking a sweat. He occasionally draws a shotgun to thin out his ‘admirers’.

“You do?” Rythian teleports an unlucky bandit into Alsmiffy’s cloud of fire. Alsmiffy gestures to him thumbs-up, going right back into flaming bandits.

Above everyone, Trottimus’ surveyors sweep across the clearing. Electric bolts sizzle through the air to hit their intended marks. Ross fends off bandits drawing near him and Trottimus, claws making short work of the low capacity shields protecting his attackers. Trottimus dispenses elemental punishment, on top of marking prime targets with slag for everyone.

Panda’s in the thick of it, their shotgun’s odd ricochet pinging off one bandit and into another, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. Panda’s humming, not at all bothered by how easily they’re massacring their foes.

Nanosounds forces her way through her enemies. The occasional tentacle spawns, repelling bandits trying to flank her. Inky threads cling to the ground, sticking to boots and spreading up clothes and bare feet. Cleaning up after her is Will, his rattling assault rifle shredding her leftovers. His turret’s active on the building’s side, covering those closest to it with precise bursts and calculated missile blasts. Trottimus’ gaggle of surveyors defend it.

Not a single bandit falters. None of them care that their comrades and friends are dying, charging in mindlessly and blindly firing. A quarter perish from friendly fire. A few of the shivering bandits with the largest rashes and unending tremors drop their guns, accepting their sudden deaths with deep sighs of relief. 

Rythian doesn’t have time to consider taking prisoners. All he knows is that they’re all in his way. He’ll have to sacrifice them if he wants to reach the Vault.

“I’d know that blue anywhere. We’re fighting Daltos’ bandits,” Ravs observes. His frown is directed at the one he’s currently manhandling, the bandit struggling futilely in his arms. He pushes them at Rythian, who teleports them into the Atomic turret’s range. Their head’s rendered mincemeat, body flopping forwards to leak blood and brains onto the ground.

“What’re they doing here?” Rythian teleports a pickaxe aimed at his back into a rock. The rock and pickaxe shatter. The empty-handed bandit tries to punch him. 

Ravs intercepts the punch, bodily lobbing them elsewhere. Ross pounces on them, teeth sinking into their neck. The bandit slumps, dead. Ross removes his teeth, mauling another bandit trying to stab him with a crowbar.

“I don’t know,” Ravs admits. He’s not that beat up about having to fight bandits, even if he hasn’t been one himself for a long time now.

Rythian keeps his observations to himself. It seems that Sjin had a deal with Daltos. He’ll have to ask Daltos later for the sordid details since that wasn’t covered in BebopVox’s report.

Honeydew’s shovel flashes as it collides with shins, limbs and faces. He stays on Panda’s tail, relying on Panda to clear the way. Bandits aren’t accustomed to looking down when fighting. The mistake costs therm their lives when Honeydew uses the shovel to full effect, bludgeoning them into submission.

Between all of them, the bandits aren’t a difficult match. When it’s all done, the site is less intact. The aftermath is akin to a town after a bandit turf war. Final laps done by the surveyors conclude that no survivors remain. Every bandit is dead, or dying. Panda performs mercy kills on those who can still mumble.

Will summons his turret, returning it to his wrist cuffs. All the Vault Hunters regroup by Ravs. Ravs examines a few of the bandit corpses, kneeling next to them. He doesn’t touch, merely sighing and shaking his head. “Poor bastards couldn’t have lived much longer if they stayed here. Too sick.”

“From what?” Will inquires. 

“I’m guessing eridium poisoning.” Ravs stands. He nods at some of the equipment surrounding them.

Nobody loots the bodies. Alsmiffy swiftly returns a gun he’d picked up, pretending that he hadn’t done it in the first place.

Rythian takes stock of all the ammo he has left. Panda unloads an ammo crate looted from the equipment shed. “Good thing Atlas ammo is universal! It hasn’t changed one bit.” Panda helps themself to whatever’s left, filling their pockets and inventory. They pick at a bit of flesh clinging to their face.

Nodding, Rythian surveys the shield barring the way forward. “We need to turn off this shield.”

“You can’t teleport past it?” Ravs asks.

“It has a teleporter repellant,” Rythian notes. There’s a slight strain repelling him when he raises his hand towards it. It’s like trying to force two matching magnet poles to touch.

“Psh, let me work my magic again!” Nanosounds spawns a tentacle to knock it down. The tentacle’s incinerated when it appears on the other side. Everyone stares at it. 

“So much for that,” Will snickers. Nanosounds pouts. Honeydew points and laughs.

“What about your shovel?” Nanosounds inquires.

“Leave my shovel alone!” Honeydew crades the shovel like he would a child in his arms. “It’s not going anywhere near that shield!” Nanosounds snickers at how protective he’s being of the diamond shovel.

Ross’ stomach grumbles. He places a defensive hand over his stomach when people’s heads turn. “Ignore me, I’m just hungry!”

“Hungry, you say?” Ravs tilts his head. Ross hastily snaps his mouth shut, blushing. “For what?”

“Dick–” Alsmiffy interrupts, bulldozing into the conversation with glee at another chance to tease his companions.

Panda enthusiastically shoves a pile of premium grade rations into Ross’ hands. “Here, eat up while you got time!”

Ross tears up. He rips a wrapper wide open, shoving the entire ration bar into his mouth. His frantic chewing spews crumbs down his front. “This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted!” He’s already tearing another one open. “Trott, Alsmiffy, you gotta try these, they’re so  _ good!” _

“Of course it’s good, it’s the premium stuff you’re chowing down on!” Panda rolls both their eyes. They’re still pleased by Ross’ reaction.

Trottimus bounces it from his wrist before he can eat it, taking a small, neat bite. “Now  _ this _ is what a ration should taste like.”

Alsmiffy snatches it off him, turning around to conceal his face as he tries it as well. “I swear my tastebuds just had an orgasm,” He says after a tiny pause. “Ew, I just indirectly got kissed by Trott.” He scrunches up the wrapper, tucking it into his inventory.

“The shield’s still up,” Rythian patiently reminds. He’s traced the power lines to one of the old buildings. “Somebody’s, or somebodies, has to deactivate it.”

“I’m going!” Nanosounds thrusts her hand into the air like she’s in a classroom. “And so’s Will!” She grabs Will’s hand too, raising it alongside hers.

Will rolls his eyes at her eagerness, but permits the grabbing. “You’re a big girl now, you don’t need me to babysit you.”

“I just need you to be my human shield as usual,” Nanosounds sweetly says. Will pretends to look wounded by that ‘callous’ statement.

“Alsmiffy can go, he’s good at wrecking things,” Ross volunteers between giant mouthfuls. He’s already munched halfway through the rations.

“What? No, send Trott, Trott’s better!” Alsmiffy counters.

“I’m  _ busy,” _ Trottimus is also eating. “Those in favor of sending Alsmiffy?”

Nanosounds and Will’s hands drop, while his and Ross’ hands rise. After a moment, Panda raises their hand too, as with Honeydew. Rythian and Ravs watch, bemused. Ravs raises his hand after a few moments.

Alsmiffy’s head goes from one person to the next. “You all  _ suck!” _ He complains, nonetheless stomping to join Nanosounds and Will. Less than flattering muttering about Trottimus and Ross flows from his mouth, under his breath.

Nanosounds and Will follow Rythian’s directions to investigate the abandoned laboratory. The front door’s unlocked when Will tests it. The three keep their weapons ready. The hallways are silent. Will stifles a sneeze when the dust gets to him. It’s a little creepy how nothing’s changed. The three scan the dark, radars quiet.

“You could blend in,” Alsmiffy whispers. He points to Will’s outfit. “Just stand by those posters and be really still.”

“Shut up, at least I got better taste in suits than you,” Will hisses at him. Alsmiffy guffaws, snickering after.

“But it’s true, Will could blend in if he wanted to,” Nanosounds joins in. “He’s kind of a got a thing for  _ disguises.” _

“Stop mocking my fashion sense and practicality,” Will grumbles as Nanosounds and Alsmiffy high-five. “It worked in the past!”

“We’re just lucky that it didn’t fail at the wrong time,” Nanosounds points out.

“It’s technically never failed then.” Will sidesteps a friendly punch from her.

The laboratory building isn’t too large to navigate. The generators are based towards the back, between the actual labs and the offices separating them. There’s a bit of a gigglefest at some of the graffitied plaques on several of the doors. Alsmiffy pops the locks open on a few, raiding the inside of each room for loot before rejoining Nanosounds and Will.

Alsmiffy’s disappointed that there’s nothing much left to pick through. “Slimmest pickings I’ve ever run into,” He notes. “Bandits prolly got to it first.”

“You know, this place could be haunted,” Nanosounds muses out loud. “I read that nearly all Atlas sites have some sort of paranormal activity.”

“Don’t say that!” Alsmiffy snaps. “Fire doesn’t work on ghosts!”

“How do you know?” Nanosounds argues.

“I– shut up!” Alsmiffy lamely snaps after faltering, unable to deliver a suitable explanation.

“Well, people did die here,” Will adds. “Rumours of the Vaults account for about three percent of estimated fatalities on Pandora–”

“What about the ninety-seven percent?” Alsmiffy sarcastically asks. “What’s that caused by? Do tell, because statistics are fun!”

“Well, animals account for twenty-two percent, guns about–”

“Spare me the fucking nerd talk,” Alsmiffy interrupts, pretending to snore.

“But you sounded like you were enjoying my math talk!” Will smugly says.

“It’s okay, Will’s a nerd,” Nanosounds says.

“And proud of it!”

“This is what you get for being a nerd!” Alsmiffy directs a burst of noxious gas into Will’s face. 

Will coughs, reeling. “Geez, that fucking stinks! What’s in it?”

“Trade secret,” Alsmiffy smugly says, closing his palm vent with a flick of his wrist. “But it smells loads better than one of Ross’ farts.”

“You’re a real gas, you know that?” Will whispers, waving a hand in front of his face.

Nanosounds snickers. Alsmiffy gasses her too. She punches him in the chest, making him wheeze (and flashback).

In the ensuing scuffle, the three overhear the generators power down. The door leading to them creaks open. Movement behind it flickers. The three pause by the ajar door, staring at it. The throwaway joke about the place being haunted floats into each of their minds. The sense that they’re not alone strokes up the back of their necks. An ominous chill descends.

Alsmiffy draws in a breath. “I’ll go in first. Fire might not do shit, but you can whack and shoot whatever’s waiting while it’s surprised.” Nanosounds and Will nod, glad that he’s volunteering. He braces his shoulders, charging into the room, whirling left and right with raised hands. “All clear!” He moves to examine the generators. 

The naked lightbulb inside swings on its fraying cable. It flashes, eventually dying. Will makes a small sound of horror. 

Alsmiffy holds up a flaming hand. “I hope you’re all grateful that I’m using my precious gas for this shit,” He growls. It sounds like he’s talking to himself to keep the fear at bay. “Clear! Get in here before I run out of gas.”

Will and Nanosounds file in, guns level with their chests. The generators mumble, accepting the sudden intrusion. “Talk about old, I haven’t seen generators like these since they stopped making hanging fruit candypops!” Nanosounds sneezes from all the dust tickling her nose.

“I think you mean the sunfruit ones,” Will corrects.

“Nope, I definitely remember it was hanging fruit!”

Keeping the hand with the flames close to his chest, Alsmiffy prods at the main generator. “Hey, this is ours!”

“What is?” Nanosounds peers over his hand. She misses the dark shape tiptoeing as it slips out the room behind her. A metal hand narrowly misses banging on the door. Will and Alsmiffy don’t notice it either.

Alsmiffy easily unlatches the power core that the generator stopped draining. He harmlessly juggles it from heatproof glove to glove. “This is the one from Sanctuary Hole!” He waits to see if he gets punched, shoulders tensing.

“Really?” Nanosounds eyes it. Will frowns.

“Yeah! I’d recognise this lil sucker anywhere.” Alsmiffy despawns it, relaxing when he’s not going to get hit. “Don’t look at me like that, I’ll give it back to Turpsy later.” Both Nanosounds and Will are oddly cheered by Alsmiffy’s accidental optimism that they’ll all make it out alive to see the others again.

“Wait a sec, who turned off the generators if we didn’t?” Will questions. “Who’s here with us?” The three consider the possibilities. The three promptly flee the room, slamming the door on the way out.

He has his answer when they all run into a lost, blond haired figure. Lalna’s least bruised eye widens. All four stare at each other.

Nanosounds roars, charging towards him with all the force and fury of an enraged Siren. Lalna bolts like a stalker deprived of its natural shield, scrambling back into a tiny office doubling as the power control room. Reinforced metal descends, locking into place. Nanosounds’ fist dents the metal, creasing it. Her shield shimmers. Lalna’s terrified face peers at her through the cracked glass besides the door.

“You  _ traitor, _ come out here and fucking face us!” She screams. Her hair flies around her face, her Siren markings as bright as the mining laser. She slams her fist against the glass on her next punch. 

The thick, bulletproof glass shakes beneath the blows. It holds as a crack in it appears, deepening as she keeps assaulting it. Lalna flinches, biting his bloody lip, still staring at her with wide eyes.

Will and Alsmiffy watch from a few metres away. Alsmiffy strafes backwards, away from her unleashed fury. “You got this, right?” Will can read the uneasiness rolling off him at Nanosounds’ extreme shift in mood. He doesn’t blame Alsmiffy for bailing.

“Yes, I do,” Will affirms. Inwardly, he’s actually not too sure he does. She’s too enraged. He doesn’t want to interfere, but two of his friends at risk of hurting and killing each other.

“Great, then I’ll let the others know the generator’s turned off now!” Alsmiffy hightails it back down the hallways, leaving Will to deal with a wrathful Siren and a cowering traitor hiding from her.

“Why did you do that to  _ Rythian?” _ Nanosounds keeps screaming like her words can reach Lalna to flay him alive. “If I’d know you were really a lying, dirty, backstabbing fucker, I’d have–” 

Will’s HUD pings. Ducking into it, Will accepts the ECHO call. Nanosounds is already added to it. Will and Nanosounds can’t see Lalna’s face in the call, his miserable sniffling audible.

She stops pummeling the damaged door, her ragged breathing tearing at her lungs. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” She lobs at the glass. Her words bounce off it. Her viciousness passes through, hitting Lalna like a cruel, deliberate slap to the face.

“You wouldn’t understand!” Lalna’s amplified, hysterical voice floods the hallway. Will adjusts the volume of the call so it doesn’t echo. “You, Will, Lalnable and everyone else were okay with being trapped on Pandora! I wasn’t, I didn’t want to stay on this bloody, horrible planet any longer than I had to, so I backstabbed Rythian and delivered his Vault Key to Sjin! I’m  _ sorry, _ okay?!” He breaks down into a series of ashamed, guilty sobs. “I know it’s all my fault!”

For a few seconds, Nanosounds’ expression is torn between righteous anger and unwanted pity. Her face hardens, her left eye watering. Her eye and tattoo’s glowing fades. “You could have  _ talked _ to us, you idiot! We’re your friends! Or did you think we’d just ditch you for being a coward–”

“You would have made my life miserable!” Lalna fires back. Through the glass, he’s wiping his tears as fast as they trickle down his face. His modified metal hand hangs useless by his side. “I didn’t know if I could trust you or not!”

“We traveled with each other for months! I lent you my rocket launcher!” Nanosounds shrieks back.

Will clears his throat before Nanosounds can say anything else when she’s drawing another breath. “Actually, it’d have been nice to know that somebody else doesn’t like being here.” Nanosounds turns her surprised gaze on him. She’s never heard Will speak up about not liking Pandora. He seemed like the type of person to put up with all of life’s hardships without any complaint. “It got to me too when I first arrived here.”

“What?” Lalna’s stunned word interrupts his distressed crying.

“I don’t like being here either,” Will confesses. “You’re not the only one who’d rather be offworld, at this point. It really gets to you eventually.” Nanosounds simply listens, letting him work his silver tongued magic on Lalna (and her).

“But you–” Lalna’s verbal flailing is interrupted by him blowing his nose.

“You’re not the only one who hid it as best they could.” Will rubs the back of his head. “I don’t think I ever really properly dealt with it. The cage match at the dam made me aware of that.”

“So you don’t like killing people either? Even if they’re bandits?”

“Except some people really deserve it,” Nanosounds mutters. Her temper’s sizzling, dying down until it’s lukewarm embers, waiting for the next outburst. “Like Sjin.”

Will ignores her. “Not really. It’s part of my job though, so I have to live with it. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel a little bad for every person I gun down.” He taps the cracked glass. “Lalna, you’re not alone when it comes to handling these kind of thoughts. In fact, you were never alone.” The last bit is a gentle afterthought. “You can join us if you want to and help us, or stay in here, though I doubt it’ll be safe if we fail.”

Will steps back. He’s presented those two choices. It’s up to Lalna. He nods at Nanosounds, prepared to leave if Lalna doesn’t emerge. Nanosounds looks like she’d rather not leave without tearing Lalna a new one, but gets that Will’s trying to protect the both of them as best as he can without picking sides.

The door unlocks, albeit with minor difficulty thanks to Nanosounds’ attacks. Lalna leans against the doorway, awkward and timid. Will and Nanosounds stare. The darkness beyond the door hid Lalna’s current state. They hadn’t processed how horrible it is before he’d bolted.

Cracked, dried mud forms a crumbling, foul layer on his jeans. Through his rips in his jeans, the two can glimpse scraped knees and dried blood. The skin is blistered underneath the crinkled bandage covering it. The bandage is starting to peel off sideways, curling at the grimy edges. A flake of dried blood escapes a hanging scab, drifting to the floor. Bruises decorate Lalna’s arm and face. His hair’s matted with filth and more blood.

Lalna breathes through his crooked nose. Every breath incurs a weak whistle. One eye’s almost swollen shut. His other one’s puffy and red from crying (and pain). He’s struggling to keep himself together, just barely. It’s clear that betraying Rythian  _ destroyed _ him from the inside out.

Nanosounds punches Lalna in the face before Will can do anything. “That’s for betraying Rythian and us!” Her exhale rattles her. She gathers Lalna in a tight hug. Lalna gasps like he’s about to start crying again. “And  _ this, _ is for coming back,” She whispers, lifting him off his feet. He can’t struggle, limited by his injuries and her arms.

Will’s taken one step when he’s yanked back by a hand. A glance over his shoulder tells him that it’s Nanosounds doing the yanking. He’s forced into the hug before he can weasel his way out of it. Will knows better than to grumble, permitting the gesture to happen. 

He’s genuinely glad to see Lalna, and so is Nanosounds. The two can’t really despise him for coming back. They can’t speak for Rythian, though.

“We missed you,” Will admits, affectionately patting Lalna on the metal shoulder. Lalna nods, his face purpling from the air Nanosounds’ hug is denying him.

“Aw, I love group hugs,” drawls a grey-skinned figure in a blue suit. They’re pressed against Will’s side.

Will screams, detaching himself from the hug so fast that he nearly dislocates Lalna’s flesh arm. The figure does so too, retreating a few metres away. Nanosounds lets Lalna go, confronting the figure. Lalna gasps, gulping air like he’s a half-drowned stalker reaching land. He screams as well, hanging onto Will.

“Who’re you?” Nanosounds demands, flexing her left arm. Her SMG’s drawn in her other hand.

“I’m Zips! Please don’t kill me, I’m only here to pick up some incriminating paperwork!” Grinning, Zips waggles a snazzy briefcase he’s gripping in one hand. “I saw the hug and just wanted in.”

“Okay?” Will raises an eyebrow now that he and Lalna have stopped screaming.

“Great! Later, haters.” Zips power walks down the hallway before any of them can stop him.

“What a weird guy,” Lalna says, rubbing the back of his head with his real hand. He gives Nanosounds a brittle smile. Nanosounds returns it. Things will never be the same. They could all pretend, just for a little while.

“Welcome back?” Will asks, giving Lalna a small smile. “We’re going to the Vault–”

“I’m joining.” Unable to return Will’s smile, Lalna picks at a loose scab on his arm. “If Rythian wants me to, that is.” The second part’s mumbled.

“I  _ think _ he’s still mad at you, but I don’t think he’d turn down your help since we could use it.” Will stops as Lalna winces guiltily. “There’d be more people joining us, but stuff happened.”

“Oh.” Lalna stops picking at the scab. “What happened?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” Will says.

“Rythian might just want to fling you into a wall though,” Nanosounds adds. “I’ll tell him I punched you already.” Lalna says nothing, his face drawn. “Come on, Alsmiffy must have gotten back to the others by now.” Nanosounds takes his real hand to tug him along the hallways.

Will jogs behind the two, wondering if the others saw Zips leave the building. Zips’ appearance is a coincidence he can’t ignore. He’ll deal with that later, as with everything else that’s currently not the Vault.

Back at the entrance of the Vault, Rythian watches the shield drop. When it drops, he’s the first one dashing down the hill.

Sjin’s far ahead of Rythian. He can’t go any further, rubble sealed off the Vault. Before Rythian can yank him back, Sjin raises a hand. A pinprick of light parts the sky. The laser beam strikes the blocked entrance.

“Sjin’s firing his laser!” Honeydew screams. His voice is obliterated too, along with everything else the laser hits.

Rythian forgot that Sjin planned for that obstacle too. Swearing, Rythian throws his arms up, slamming his eyes shut. Flung rocks bounce off his arms, scarring the bandages. The impacts forces him back several metres; his legs pang from resisting the sudden blast of air almost lifting him off his feet. Dust fills his mouth and nostrils, choking and scratching the inside of his throat and head. His scarf’s useless. He can hear the others trying to stay upright, coughing and swearing as well.

The aftermath leaves a dusty fog that’s yet to settle. Ahead of him, the outline of a disorientated figure stumbles to their feet, groping along the decimated rock wall.

Coughing, Rythian stumbles after Sjin. The pillars lining the paths are nothing more than vertical chunks of carved rock. One falls; he dodges it, hearing Ravs grunt as he rolls out of its path. Ravs is still keeping up. A blast like that wouldn’t keep him down for long.

Rythian has no idea if any of the other Vault Hunters are keeping up either. His radar’s a confused hotbed of activity and movement. An extra marker’s appeared on his HUD map. He has no time to consider who’s joining them.

The ground’s loose with fine sand, chunks of torn metal and pulverized stone. That mining rig laser undid the job that he, Ravs and Teep did in permanently sealing the Vault’s entrance. The Vault’s ceiling buckles, boulders tumbling down from above since there’s no metal holding them back anymore– Ravs slaps his ass. 

At the impact, Rythian instinctively teleports forward. He instantly regrets it, wheeling on the spot. The entrance caves in. He spies Ravs diving back towards the others, his kilt flapping.

Rubble blocks the doorway. Ears ringing, Rythian runs his hands over the mess. Maybe he can move it with his teleporter, enough to make an opening– his ECHO device crackles to life.

“Rythian? Rythian? Can you hear me?” Ravs’ voice is rough, tainted with effort. Rythian strains to hear him. His ass stings; Ravs hadn’t been gentle. He reluctantly appreciates what Ravs’ quick thinking did to save him.

“Ravs! Are you hurt?”

A laugh answers him. Ravs is fine. “Don’t stick around, you need to go after Sjin. There’s not much room on this side, so don’t even try teleporting in or you’ll get squashed.”

“Like me!” Honeydew’s muffled voice pipes up.

“I can’t leave you and the others behind!” Rythian protests, slamming a hand against the rock. His hand throbs with mild pain along his pinky and the muscle forming the blade of his hand.

Ravs is right, and Rythian despises how much sense he’s making. It’s cruel, how fate conspires to separate him and the other Vault Hunters. What’s the fucking point of bringing them if they’re not here to confront Sjin with him?

“Don’t hurt yourself. It wasn’t your fault that the cave-in happened.” Ravs always knows exactly what to say to make him feel better. “You’re the only one who can catch up to Sjin. We’ll be right behind you.” When he hears Rythian say nothing, he firmly adds, “I swear on my kilt.”

“You swear on your kilt,” Rythian echoes, not sure whether to laugh or cry. He’s already tired. He still hasn’t even caught up with Sjin.

“We’ll be there,” Ravs murmurs, fine with repeating himself. “No matter what.”

Refusing to get any more emotional, Rythian forces himself to pull away from the rubble, stepping back. He turns, staring at the lonely journey ahead of him. He hasn’t truly been alone, not since he got abandoned by Lalna in the Southern Shelf. Or when he first met Lalna in Scylla’s Grove.

“Step aside!” Honeydew confidently declares, in the background. Scraping sounds fill in the silence.

Rythian quits the call. If he sticks around, he might be tempted to stay until the other Vault Hunters are present. By then, it’ll be too late.

In the Vault, the absence of being watched is worser than he ever imagined. She’s ignoring him, or else he’d be running into a flock of Guardians. Sjin couldn’t have gone that far ahead without her help. She must have sent an escort to meet him so he didn’t get lost, or dropped her defences. She must be confident to be this lax about her security.

Rythian makes his own way to her. The ethereal light emitted from the strange, alien metal that the Eridians always used for their constructs keeps him from meeting darkness.

The foreboding hallways are exactly like he remembers them, colder than the desert air, like Eleseer’s frigid interior. Compared to the last time he’d trespassed this Vault and without her interference, it’s even easier to retrace his steps to the central chamber. It’s almost ridiculous how he does it without much conscious thought.

His back and shoulders keep erupting in unpleasant prickles, like phantom touches grazing over his skin. Phantom pain occasionally jolts like a stray wire’s brushing the row of stitches along his back. He’s balanced on the edge of a panic attack, adrenaline priming his senses for anything that might happen.

An empty silence reigns in the halls, the disturbing whispers that used to plague his nightmares and memories absent. For once, his head’s clear. He’s not sure if he likes it.

The sealed circular door that separates the main chamber and the rest of the Vault’s wide open. Through it, he can see the elaborate, ornate viewing balconies. The look is a cruel, ironic parody meant to resemble a symposium. The floor mosaic honouring the Queen sparkles and glitters, as always. Her name (illegible to anyone but him) flows in Eridian script across the tiles. He could sketch that sprawling mosaic in his sleep (and had, back at Ravs’ old place).

Pylons lining the corners of the room emit synchronized, electrical hums. Each upholds a duty given to them since the moment the prison was complete. Prisms of hovering black crystals top the obsidian pillars. Each crystal spins, arcs of purple lightning leaping erratically from one pylon to the other. Rythian could place a crystal by the darkest shade of black and the crystal would be darker still.

The Vault door hasn’t changed in shape, size or form, still a circular fusion of Eridian crafted metal and stone, the distinctive, curving ‘V’ mark of the Vaults forming its surface pattern. Signals from each of the pylons set into the door’s locks indicate which of the pylons remain. All are still lit and spinning for now.

Above it, a shield cages the room in. It’s transparent, the ripples visible only when sand from the outside touches it. The stars and Elpis are visible; he’s spent many a night on his back in this same room watching their movements to pass the time instead of sleeping or working on his thesis.

In front of the door is the carved pedestal intended to lock and unlock said door. Spreading from the pedestal is a platform, connected by a lone ramp leading to the rest of the open floor space. From it, Rythian has a perfect vantage point.

Sjin is at the pedestal, the Vault Key poised to unlock the Queen’s prison. His hand’s raised like he’s directly offering it to her, a gift from a humble, devoted servant. All that’s needed to complete the image is for him to be on his knees.

Rythian appears on the platform to confront him. He doesn’t want to risk teleporting next to Sjin, keeping back a few metres. “Sjin, stop!” The dust from the blast lodging in his throat causes his voice to adopt a scratchy rasp.

In person, Sjin’s shorter; he’s about Ravs’ height, tastefully dressed in denim. Rythian would know the hollow look in his eyes. It’s reflected back at himself whenever he used to catch a glimpse of himself in a rain puddle or a borrowed shaving mirror, more than five years ago.

“Why should I?” Sjin tilts his head. His hand lowers until it’s level with his chest, the Vault Key spinning circles on his flat palm. The pointed end stops to aim at the door.

“If you release her, there’s no way that the universe will survive her wrath.” Rythian raises both hands to show that he’s unarmed.

Sjin’s eyes recede, becoming lucid for a split second before he blinks, and then he’s gone again, mired by a grief that still wracks him to this very day. “She offered you  _ knowledge _ once. You didn’t take it.” It’s a statement, not an accusation.

“Her offer’s not worth it. Trust me on that,” Rythian reasons.

Sjin giggles. It’s disturbing, high-pitched and too abrupt. “She didn’t have to offer  _ me _ anything to bring the Vault Key back.”

“Then you still have a choice!” Rythian implores. “You can still give me back the Vault Key, and save the universe.” He’s appealing to Sjin’s sense of decency in the hopes that his rational side will see the reason behind the plea. He’d seen it, as Sjin’s eyes rolled back, unless she’s already gotten to him through his grief–

“I don’t want to save the universe, or the planet which took Sips from me!” Sjin’s outburst bears his pain. He throws it at Rythian like a grenade. Rythian chooses that moment to ignore it, lashing out with a punch. It slides off Sjin’s shield. Sjin exhales, surprised that he’d even try. “Rude!” He reaches into the inside of his jacket.

Rythian tries to slap the Vault Key from Sjin’s hand. His slap misses. Holding the Vault Key over his head, Sjin giggles, his jacket flapping as he dances back. Rythian grabs his shotgun, bringing the barrel up. Sjin dives out of the way. Rythian blasts the floor. The floor remains scratch free as the scattered shot of bullets bounce off it. Sjin makes a testy sound, bringing down his hands.

The Vault Key slides home. It’s exactly like Rythian remembers, overlapping with his worst memory. Just like that, he’s stripped of autonomy.

He sees himself, in his arrogance and self-assuredness that he’s doing the right thing, contrasting it with the image of himself after the day he decided to stop living.

Huh, his chest hurts. It snaps him free from his induced traumatic state. Rythian looks up. Sjin’s holding a smoking pistol. It’s aimed at him. Rythian looks down, at his own chest. He doesn’t remember treating a red stain of any kind, not unless– _oh._ _Oh no._

Rythian recedes. In his place rises what he’d been trying to hold back all these years, no matter what pain or trials he’s had to endure. Not this time. This time’s different. There’s no way he can fight it, letting it devour him whole, the hidden depths of his being rising to take over.

(He no longers sees the point in resisting. This way, he won’t be around to see the results of his third failure.)

Sjin throws his head back as he laughs, slapping his knee. “Serves you right, for getting in my way!” He brags. “I’ve won, and you’ve lost!”

Ravs, Lalna, Nanosounds, Will, Panda, Honeydew, Trottimus, Alsmiffy and Ross arrive in the nick of time to witness Rythian ascend.

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

SherlockHulmes: Who’s there? Trott? Sjin? I have a loaded stapler, and I’m not afraid to use it! This thing can staple fifty reports in ten minutes! You don’t want to see what it can do to a human!

Sips: Naw, it’s just me. Sherlock, put the stapler down, you could put somebody’s eye out with that.

SherlockHulmes: Sips! I wasn’t really intending to use it, it’s actually empty.

Sips: Sup.

SherlockHulmes: You weren’t due to come back from vacation until…whenever, I guess. You missed a  _ lot. _

Sips: I know, but listen, I had a change of heart since I felt bad about leaving you so much paperwork, but that doesn’t matter–

SherlockHulmes: Sips, I have something to give you, it’s my resignation letter–

Sips: Because guess what? You’re  _ fired! _

SherlockHulmes: ...I’m being  _ fired? _

Sips: Yeah! Fired! F-I-R-E-D! Yippee! So you can keep your resignation letter!

SherlockHulmes: The party popper’s a real moodkiller.

Sips: I can put on a hat if you’d like.

SherlockHulmes: No hats.

Sips: Ah, here’s my boy Zips.

Zips: The paperwork which you asked for.

Sips: Thank you, now go upstairs and start cleaning up. Make sure that all the dirt’s safe. Can’t have any of my premium samples missing.

Zips: Yessir.

SherlockHulmes: Wait, wait, how am I supposed to leave Pandora without a ticket?

Sips: No problem! Here’s a free ticket as part of your departure package! Fast Travel Code’s included. By the time I get back from the Vault, your apartment had better be empty, or I’m suing you for trespassing on company owned premises!

SherlockHulmes: Does my non-disclosure agreement still stand?

Sips: You breathe one word of what’s been happening to try to get fresh with me, and your ass is mine.

SherlockHulmes: …My lips are sealed.

Sips: It’s been real, Sherlock. Wowee, look at him run and click his heels. You’d think he really hated working for me.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO LOG. / / –

\--

There’s no gradual transformation. One second, Rythian’s there and then, he’s not. The first pylon stops humming as it deactivates. It doesn’t draw the Vault Hunters’ attentions from him. All of them flinch where they stand, blinking. The image of a laughing Queen superimposed on the Vault’s door struck each of them like a lightning bolt. The door’s still holding.

Rythian’s once blue eyes are lit with a dark purple fire. Fingernails lengthen into curved claws, each with their own needle sharp points. The scarf around his mouth slackens. His mouth is pulled back in a fanged grimace. Around his left hand (beneath the bandages) wind a series of pulsing, purple scars, almost vein-like and organic.

The wound in his chest’s stopped bleeding. Where the bullet hit, a purple instead of red leaks. The liquid glows like his eyes.

“Really? You think a fake, magical transformation is going to save the day–” Sjin’s hardly done scoffing when Rythian’s hand is inside of his chest. The others can see the hand emerging through Sjin’s back, through his jacket. Sjin indignantly sputters, struggling in vain. “Release me!” He demands, silencing when purple eyes flick to him.

Rythian retracts his hand. His hand curls, catching against bone. His nails drag in deliberate increments against Sjin’s flesh, eliciting breathy, pained gasps. Lines of blood form wherever the nails prick. Rythian leaves a ragged circle of mutilated viscera in Sjin’s back. Clenched around the tube of vertebrae is Rythian’s fist. He tears Sjin’s spine out through his chest, flesh parting like a nightflower’s petals opening.

Sjin folds backwards, going as limp as a scarecrow deprived of its back pole. Everything attached to the spine’s yanked along for the ride as well, exposing an array of guts and organs. Rythian grips the torn spin in his hand. Bored indifference is his only expression. A fountain of blood pours from Sjin’s back and chest, his eyes as wide as they’ve ever been– a few seconds later, the dislocated spine and Sjin’s body jerk. Both vanish in an explosion of glitching holographic pixels.

It makes no difference to Rythian. Rythian stands, watching the Vault Hunters gape at him. Ravs is the first to react, sprinting to meet Rythian. The fragment of purple in Ravs’ inventory illuminated the second Rythian ascended. Teep warned him about it. They hadn’t foreseen this though, whatever this is.

“Rythian!” Ravs pretends that he hasn’t just witnessed one of his best friends undergo a sudden, alarming shift in being. Who or what’s standing in Rythian’s place is a complete stranger.

“Ravs, stay away from him!” Nanosounds calls. The others agree. Ravs ignores all of them, keeping Rythian in his line of sight. Rythian watches him.

Ravs knows that he’s still in there, somewhere. “Let me just get this for you first.” Smiling to hide his unease, he reaches for the Vault Key currently set into the plinth.

Rythian lunges, striking Ravs across the face. Ravs yells, his whole body recoiling. Rythian lashes out with both hands, all nails poised to gouge Ravs’ eyes out. Ravs catches Rythian’s wrists, fending off the attempt. Blood beads along the diagonal lines marring one of his cheeks. Gritting his teeth, Ravs stares down a pair of burning eyes.

“Rythian!” He whispers the name like it can remind Rythian of who he really is. Rythian bares his teeth to bite Ravs. Ravs headbutts him; the smash of bone against bone echoes. “Sorry!”

“Don’t apologise, he’s not listening!” Nanosounds shouts. “Ravs, get back here, we need you–”

“What are  _ those?” _ Trottimus shrieks, directing a surveyor up. 

It flies towards a winged creature with a bladed staff leaping down. The creature spasms when the surveyor’s bolt slams into its chest. It falls, only to be replaced by another. On the viewing balconies, an army of insect-like, white humanoids appear. 

Some have all four limbs that are hands and free. Others have two rounded clubs for hands, lacking feet, shifting patterns of diamonds forming wings on their backs instead. The legless ones float, filling the air. All of them are headed for the Vault Hunters.

“Guardians!” Ravs shouts back. His hands clutch empty air. He clenches and unclenches his fists, scanning left and right for Rythian. “Fight them, they’re not alive, and won’t stop until we’re all dead!”

“I can see that!” Nanosounds guns her way through the Guardians blocking her path so she can reach Ravs. She reloads her SMG, ducking as a staff swings at her. Ravs catches it, disarming the Guardian. He cuts its head off with a practiced swing. Purple liquid smelling like discarded slag gushes from its neck stump.

Nanosounds’ boot kicks an abandoned object left on the floor. She stoops, snatching it up and retreating to Ravs’ side. Ravs covers her, his fists flying at whatever’s in range. She spawns a protective cage of interwoven tentacles, the rush of power filling her senses with an intoxicating, godly high. It doesn’t last longer than a few seconds or else she’ll lose herself too.

She examines the object she’d picked up. It’s Rythian’s teleporter. Heart sinking, Nanosounds clips it to her belt. Ravs grips his stolen staff, his face still bleeding. His arm muscles are already painted purple. The purple stuff doesn’t appear to be harming him.

“We need to get to the Vault Key!” Nanosounds shouts. 

The other Vault Hunters are busy repelling the Guardians intent on killing them. Panda dives for the Vault Key. Rythian pops out of nowhere, slamming into Panda. Panda grunts, rolling back and flipping onto their feet. They shoot  at Rythian with their shotgun.

Will, Lalna, Ravs and Nanosounds scream, “NO!” at them.

Swearing, Panda dives away. Rythian slices thin air. He moves to chase Panda. Ravs ducks through a gap in the tentacles, going after him. Guardians press in, forming a wall. Ravs doesn’t stop, charging in like a maddened rakk hive. He polevaults using the stolen staff, bringing it down around in a wide circle. Heads fly. Rythian slips in between all the writhing, decapitated Guardians to ambush Ravs– Nanosounds can’t spare a tentacle or her concentration will slip (and the last thing she wants is the dam incident happening again).

“RYTHIAN!” Lalna’s voice stops Rythian in his tracks.

“Lalna, don’t!” Ravs shouts. The mess of Guardians press in around him, blocking him from sight.

Lalna ignores him. He presents himself, a willing target. “I’m here!” He thrusts a thumb towards himself, taunting Rythian with a jerk of his head. “I’m the one you want to kill, right? I betrayed you!”

It’s almost an agreement when Rythian looms in front of him, poised to impale Lalna with his bare hands. Lalna stares, pinned by the lack of recognition in Rythian’s eyes. Nothing he said got through to him. His presence, however, caused a reaction.

In the background, Trottimus points at Lalna as he slides out of grenading range. Trottimus’ surveyor swoops in, a bolt crackling. Rythian’s outline blurs like he’s caught between dimensions. The surveyor swoops off. The bolt dissolves against the floor.

Lalna deploys Larry Robert. Larry Robert clunks as it rises, eye whirring as it catches up on events. The Loader lowers, tucking its legs underneath itself. It extends a helpful hand. Lalna uses it as a footstool to clamber aboard its oversized frame. He has little confidence that he’ll survive the Guardians’ assault without his favourite (and only) Loader robot playing bodyguard. 

Rising, Larry Robert’s hand retreats as the cannons on either side of Lalna’s head lock into place. “Watch out for Rythian, but don’t shoot him,” Lalna warns. He doesn’t want to think that Rythian can’t be saved. Larry Robert makes an affirmative beep in response.

Almost immediately, Larry Robert swivels ninety degrees to the left. Rythian blinks out of sight, a barely visible outline against the purple and blue scenery.

“You upgraded Larry Robert!” Will Strife borrows Larry Robert’s frame as cover. He reloads his assault rifle. A scratch runs down his face. Guardians move in synchronized patterns, trying to flank Ravs and Nanosounds.

“I did!” Lalna’s a little thrilled that Will remembered what Larry Robert used to look like.

Larry Robert’s current appearance mimics that of the War Loaders Hyperion employs. The exception is that Larry Robert’s less sleeker, having to make do with secondhand weaponry looted from its dead brethren scattered throughout Tundra Express. Larry Robert also still sports the neon green and pink paint job that Lalna did. All the stickers Lalna pasted on are long gone.

“Any chance you could keep Larry Robert out? It might actually make a dent in these thing’s numbers.” Will grunts as an airborne Guardian tries to assassinate him. It drops when he shoots it in the chest.

“Larry Robert’s here to stay!” Pulling his goggles into place, Lalna opens a second window in his HUD to keep an eye on Larry Robert’s status. Larry Robert begins to move. Will darts around Larry Robert, keeping up a safe perimeter.

“Do something about the murderous, rampaging asshole you call your friend!” Alsmiffy joins them. He dispenses a foul-smelling gas cloud that he ignites a few seconds later; dead Guardians caught in it drop like rakks caught in an erupting lava plume.

“I wonder if Panda could see him with that eye of theirs,” Will muses out loud. “Hey! Panda! Where are you?” He shouts into the local channel.

Panda crash lands in front of Will and Lalna, a boot planted in the back of a Guardian’s skull and both hands gripping the Guardian’s spindly wrists. The trapped Guardian clicks, wriggling about in apparent pain. Panda smirks. They tear off the Guardian’s arms, tossing both aside with an ugly, flesh tearing sound; it smears alien gunk onto the mosaic below when Lalna peeks over the edge.

“You called?” Dusting off their gloved hands, Panda politely eyes Will and Lalna, retrieving their shotgun from the sling on their back. The startling blue of their cybernetic eye hits Lalna like a dart scoring perfect points; Rythian’s eyes used to be the exact same shade.

Larry Robert deters Rythian with a warning shot. “Can you track Rythian while he’s doing his thing?”

“You mean the teleporting?” Panda’s eyes slide left, towards the slaughter happening in the haphazard maze of lethal tentacles filling one side of the room.

“The vanishing act he’s got going on, yeah,” Lalna confirms.

Honeydew scuttles past, walloping Guardians on the shins while screaming nonstop. His shovel is sharp enough to slice through their skinny legs, leaving them crawling and vulnerable for the others to prey on.

“I can track his heat signature,” Panda offers. “But not when he’s disappeared or is about to.”

“Anything’s better than what we have now!” Will mows down two Guardians attempting to ambush one of Trott’s surveyors. The surveyor whistles in thanks; Larry Robert fires a barrage of missiles upwards, destroying half a flock of Guardians. Chunks rain down in a morbid rain. “Man, the new A.I. are great!”

“New A.I.?” Lalna stares at him in mild confusion.

“Yeah! I forgot, you haven’t met BebopVox yet.” Will scratches his head with a hand. “They’re a friend of Zylus and Xephos. The A.I. are their creations.”

“Oh, okay!” Lalna tries not to feel left out; that’d been his own doing, so really, he has no right to feel that way. He’s not sure how to feel about Larry Robert being smarter than they appear. Probably glad, since Larry Robert’s saved him loads of times since being upgraded.

Will notices the awkward pause, but he’s smart enough not to say anything about it. “You can ask BebopVox about it later.”

Panda mutters, “Five ‘o'clock.” Larry Robert fires in said direction, dissuading Rythian from another sneak attack. “He really wants to kill you,” Panda notes. “You got a plan?”

“We find the others, and come up with a new plan on top of Rythian’s old one,” Will mutters.

“Please tell me it includes dealing with him,” Alsmiffy mutters. “I’m  _ this _ close to setting him on fire, fuck keeping him alive!” He shrieks when Rythian slashes at his arm in passing.

\--

Greenman's takeoff from Elpis is one of the smoothest that Zylus has ever pulled off. Performing the short jump to Elpis consumed a quarter of the emergency fuel Zylus kept for situations like these. He pilots Greenman towards the mining rig’s last known coordinates.

BebopVox rests inside Zylus’ inventory, contained in their A.I. core. BebopVox is oddly chirpy in spite of the doomsday mood inside Greenman. Zylus can’t tell them to knock it off.

> This is like the old days! Remember, Zylus? It’s a shame I can’t fly the ship for you like I used to!

Behind Zylus in the first row of seats, Minty lounges. She rechecks her Law revolver. Seated in the same row is Hollie, who’s fiddling with an oversized traveler’s backpack. The backpack wriggles every few seconds. Hollie pats it, as if she’s reassuring herself (or whatever’s inside). Hre eyes keep darting to Minty.

Xephos is positioned in the second row of seats. Their long legs are almost pulled up to their chest so they can fit in. They type on their holographic keyboard at light speed, messaging back and forth with Pyrionflax. Pyrionflax occupies the furthest seat in the back row. They’re trying to stay far away from Minty (as usual).

Normally, Zylus would have began and ended his pre-flight speech by now. Since circumstances are a little different, he skips it. Greenman’s stealth drives are on standby. That’s Teep’s final gift to him. It’s a nod to Teep’s skill in maintaining Greenman that even without Zylus’ own contributions, the stealth drives still work.

He stops himself from thinking about Teep’s current status, since that leads to him wondering about Rythian, and if Rythian is currently embroiled in a battle with Sjin. Minty tucks herself into the tiny cockpit, resting her arm on the back of his chair.

“Slow down, worrywart, fretting ain’t gonna get us any faster or closer to slapping down Sjin.” Minty’s so relaxed about the entire ‘save the universe’ deal. She’d given Zylus an eyeful for the ‘brand new, spanking uniform’ he’s currently wearing. It’s Dahl’s combat version, far more suited to battle than the formal uniform is.

“How can you be so calm at a time like this?” Zylus readies the switch to prepare for a short jump, if he has to. It’s a fuel drainer, but he has to be ready for anything. The mining rig’s about to pop up.

Minty’s fingers drum on the chair. “No sense in wasting all that extra energy thinking about what’ll go wrong.” A sudden clunk has her turning to watch Hollie.

Hollie kicked the seat next to her, currently hunching over the backpack in her lap. She bumps the armrest, swearing softly. “No, we’re not there yet!” She hisses. “Stay in there!”

“Hey, what’s in the backpack?” Minty calls out to her. Hollie slowly looks up at her.

“I hope it’s ammo,” Xephos mutters. “We didn’t bring enough ammo.”

> Ammo would be a wise decision. I could give you the projected numbers for how many we’ll need, but that would be bragging.

“You’re getting really good at this ‘pretending to be human’ thing if you keep up that,” Pyrionflax mutters from the back.

> But I had you all fooled for ages! So I’m already good at this ‘pretending to be human’ thing!

“It’s extra supplies!” Hollie blurts. “Since I wasn’t sure how long we’d be away for!”

“We’re not going camping, Hollie.” Minty’s hand grabs one of the overhead brackets as Zylus steers Greenman into a sharp turn. “You can leave the backpack behind when we get off.” She pauses, staring at it. “Unless you have something else in there.”

“Maybe.” Hollie sighs.

“Hollie.” Minty’s tone takes on a particular, persuasive note.

“Fine! I’m sorry.” She unlatches the backpack. The flap falls open.

A pearly white, bean-like shape emerges, wriggling and twisting free until it’s floating in mid-air. Two stubby, clawed arm-like appendages wriggle back and forth. An elongated neck ends in a porcelain, doll-like face. Soulless black eyes fixate on Minty. Faded purple, patchy fabric is wrapped around its neck in a miniature scarf. It clicks at Minty (its mouth not moving). Minty frowns as she listens, sighing after a few seconds.

Xephos glances up, before slamming their knees into the chair in front of them, hand raised. “What is  _ that?” _ They yell. Sparks gather along their fingers.

“Hold your fire!’” Minty shields the being by stepping in front of it. “This is Rythian Junior. Junior, this is Xephos. Say hi.” Junior waggles a claw in greeting.

_ “Rythian Junior?” _ Incredulous, Xephos shoots a look at everyone who’s on board Greenman to see if this is an elaborate joke and they’re the victim of a hidden camera prank. Except for Zylus (who’s busy steering), Minty, Hollie and Pyrionflax nod in unison.

“Minty’s not kidding,” Pyrionflax comments. “Minty’s the designated godparent until Rythian returns.”

“It’s a joke, right?” Xephos stares at the creature. He can’t imagine Rythian adopting it, or what’d inspired him to do so in the first place.

“Oh, this ain’t a joke, I take being a godparent very seriously,” Minty deadpans. “Hollie, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Junior wanted in, and I felt really bad since they kept nudging the backpack towards me like they really wanted to go too,” Hollie mumbles, her face as red as her dyed hair. Her mohawk droops as she sinks behind her chair.

“Well, we can’t turn back now!” Zylus says. “Because we’re here, and everyone should probably take a seat since I’m about to bust some sick moves!” He cranks Greenman to the left.

“Who even says that anymore!” Pyrionflax squawks, latching onto an overhead brace. Their laptop flies into their inventory.

The move knocks Xephos over, sending them crashing into the row of chairs. “Ow!” They hold their own keyboard high above their head.

“Seatbelts!” Minty reminds, grabbing the handle above her head. She grabs Junior with her other hand, keeping them held to her hip. Junior clicks. Minty clicks back, almost reassuringly.

“There’s Loaders firing at us!” Zylus reports. Greenman goes into a spin; Zylus flicks a few switches, shifting in his chair. Greenman picks up speed. Past a window, shots whiz by.

“Keep us moving, don’t let us get hit!” Pyrionflax screams from the back of the ship. They whimper as one of the ship’s wings nearly gets hit.

“I am!” Zylus shouts. “I’m not firing back so we can go as fast as we can!”

“I’m ordering the rig bombardment!” Hollie shouts. She grabs the floating backpack that’d hid Junior when it falls past her. “Zylus, keep moving!”

“Here we go!” Zylus sends Greenman into a rapid series of dizzying spins that has Xephos, Hollie and Pyrionflax sticking to the walls of the ship. Minty grips the bracket until her metal hand starts bending it. Junior stays silent, watching everyone.

Through one of the portholes, the fire from the cannons positioned around Concordia reach through space. The army of Loaders braced on the mining rig’s exterior keep firing at Greenman and its passengers.

“Hold on!” Zylus engages the stealth drive. He lets go of the joystick, correcting Greenman’s position. 

Xephos, Pyrionflax and Hollie drop from the ceiling, landing awkwardly across seats. They’ve all swapped positions, save for Minty, who lands on her feet like a pleased cat. Junior’s upside down on her hip. They don’t appear to mind.

“Why’d we stop?” Pyrionflax whimpers. There’s no sounds to indicate that the firing’s stopped. They cower in their seat, their hood pulled over their head until their eyes peek out.

“Waiting for an all-clear, and an opening,” Zylus mutters, watching the mining rig. The Loaders have turned to confront the new threat: cannonfire from Concordia.

Zylus sits up straight, leaning over the cockpit’s controls. One hand grips the joystick, the other hovers above the levers for the drives. He’s watching the mining rig so intensely, both eyes scanning its exterior.

“What’s he doing?” Xephos mumbles.

“We’re going to  _ die _ out here,” Pyrionflax moans. “I haven’t even reached my seasonal high score in Underguard!”

“We’re not going to die,” Hollie counters. “Zylus wouldn’t get us killed. Right?”

He doesn’t answer. The ship hangs in space, adrift. Cannonfire grazes one of its wings, rocking the entire frame. Still, Zylus waits, as patient as a Drifter waiting in ambush. Greenman inches forward. A Loader’s destroyed remains patter the front of the ship, screws, nuts and wires gently bouncing off it.

Zylus cranks the lever down, his hand blurring to snap a switch into place before he shoves the joysticks forwards. The ship  _ drags _ itself through space for a less than a second, a moment of nail-biting tension arising as the overclocked drives and engines resist the order it’d been given before shrugging and going ‘have it your way’.

The ships punches through space. Minty tears the bracket off as she’s flung back, off her feet. Hollie grabs her, yelping as her own arm’s nearly dislocated by Minty’s weight. The two slam into the back hatch, crumpling. Junior clicks in mild distress from being squashed by Hollie’s arm.

Xephos gasps as smoke exits the gap between panels beneath their feet, yanking their feet up. Pyrionflax screams. Greenman rockets towards the mining rig; the shield’s still up.

Xephos can’t even lift a finger, let alone get out of their seat to stop Zylus. “Zylus, no!”

“Zylus!” Hollie and Pyrionflax add their voices to Xephos’. Hollie’s ECHO device continues to broadcast Concordia’s attempts to bring down the shield.

The blue layer forming the shield drops when Greenman’s a hundred metres away. Gunfire from the Loaders blast Greeman’s shield; Zylus keeps the ship moving, ignoring the Loaders. The mining rig’s shield pops back into place as Greenman’s blazes into one of the open hangers.

Gritting his teeth, Zylus wrenches the joysticks back. He halts Greeman, bringing it down as gently as a spinning leaf landing atop a pond’s surface. Xephos, Hollie and Pyrionflax sway as they stumble out from the back hatch. 

Shrugging, Minty tosses the freed bracket to one side. It clanks on the floor. Zylus retrieves it, giving her an annoyed look that he’s got one more thing to fix later.  He pats Greenman as if apologising to the ship. Junior slips from under her arm to float besides her.

“Look, you’d have lost a lot more if I hadn’t been hanging onto that,” Minty says to him. “Good flying, by the way.”

“True.” Zylus puts the loose bracket away. “Thanks.”

“Please don’t ever do that again,” Pyrionflax cheerfully says, wiping their face with their jacket.

The inside of the mining rig is eerily silent. A private SipsCo. shuttle is docked. Nobody moves from or to it. As far as as they can all tell, they must be the only humans aboard.

“Where do we go from here?” Hollie fans herself with a hand.

> Sjin’s office. We need to unlock the mining rig’s engine doors since he might have locked those down.

“Thank you, Bebop,” Pyrionflax says, in a strained voice. Their face is still a shade of mowed grass green.

“Let’s go, then.” Zylus digistructs an assault rifle that he slings on his back. He attaches his corrosive pistol, Hornet, to his hip belt. 

His new uniform offers extra room along his belt, and customised pouches. He’s already putting each of them to good use by keeping extra digistruct modules on him (each one of them full to capacity, save for his own personal ones that carry minimal loot).

Xephos gives the legendary gun a quick, coveting look but focuses on arming themself. “We all set?”

Pyrionflax is the only person without a weapon of any kind. “I can burp the main theme song to Underguard in self-defense,” They say, declining a spare pistol Zylus offers.

“Burping ain’t gonna cut it when things get heated.” Minty summons Junior to her side. Her voice turns practical. “Now sonny, you stay with Pyrionflax, and try not to get caught in the crossfire.” Junior shows no indication of understanding aside from giving a single click.

“How’s Junior going to help?” Xephos inquires. Junior’s nothing like they’ve ever seen, clearly alien in origin. 

In response, Junior swivels to face Pyrionflax and starts to give off a purple aura. A single beam that’s the same colour connects the two.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Pyrionflax bats Junior away. The beam breaks off as Junior switches beams to Hollie; Hollie’s less perturbed, giggling.

She makes a thoughtful sound, examining her shield. “Sonny’s recharging our shields.”

A click confirms her observation. Junior does so for Minty and Zylus; they briefly pause when it comes to Xephos. Xephos submits to the treatment with a nod when the others are unharmed. It takes only a few seconds before Junior shuts the beam off, bobbing in the air behind Pyrionflax. Xephos’ shield has another layer to it, thanks to Junior.

“We ready? Let’s go.” Minty allows Zylus to lead since BebopVox is him giving directions.

The party makes it to Sjin’s office without encountering a single enemy. Minty and Xephos wait outside as Hollie, Pyrionflax and Junior enter.

Sjin’s office is an expensive suite of experimental technology sitting in their glass pedestals, a mahogany coloured desk and an ergonomic office chair. The office is decked out in Hyperion’s trademark colours, canary yellow and titanium white. A Hyperion banner hangs across a window.

Zylus digistructs BebopVox’s core. He moves around the desk, also digistructing a cable. With a twist of his wrist, BebopVox is connected. Zylus moves back to the door.

“Urgh, I feel like I’m at one of their fast food chains,” Pyrionflax complains. They steal the chair, sitting down at the desk. “Ooh, I like this chair!” The chair automatically molds to their body shape, hugging Pyrionflax’s body. They boot up Sjin’s desktop, a transparent screen appearing above the desk. It takes Pyrionflax a few seconds to locate a keyboard. “It’ll take me a while. You four pop down to the engine rooms, and I’ll let you know when I’m in.” The childish, maniacal glee in their voice isn’t disguised.

“You didn’t do the voice,” Hollie mutters, a touch accusingly.

“Oh yeah, right.” Pyrionflax’s voice drops pitch.  _ “I’m in.” _

“Nerd,” Xephos mutters, hastily stifling a giggle. They follow Zylus and Minty down the hallway. Grinning, Holile takes up the rear.

For a second, Junior stares at their own reflection in the glass, or they’re watching Pandora below. They slip out as the office door slides shut, following Hollie from above at an angle, darting left and right whenever she looks back.

BebopVox and Pyrionflax sit in relative silence for a few minutes, both working together to comb Sjin’s system for the right accesses which they can use to enter it. They assume Junior’s being quiet in a corner somewhere.

“I think I found it,” Pyrionflax declares.

> Wait!

BebopVox’s warning is a second too late. Pyrionflax attempts to access it. Throughout the mining rig, alarms blare a loop of sirens. Loaders begin to digistruct. Minty, Zylus and Xephos break into a run.

Hollie breaks off, turning in the opposite direction. “I’m going back to defend Pyrion and Junior!”

“Okay, you do that!” Minty shouts. “You still have to show me the cherry smoothie you claim won you a cooking prize!”

“I will! And be careful!” Hollie shouts back. She sprints back the way she came, dodging the robots being built from the modules set into the walls.

Back upstairs, Pyrionflax tries every method that enters their mind to try to switch off the alarm.

> Try to turn off the alarm!

“I’m trying!” Pyrionflax pauses to watch Hollie back into the room, firing at the first wave of Loaders. 

Her shield ripples as bullets ping off it. She slams the door shut. Her hand tears off the panel. A crouch brings her level with a bundle of wires sticking out of the panel’s underside. She fiddles with it, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. A blast door activates, sliding across the other one.

“Good going,” Pyrionflax finally says. “Now back to this shit!”

> Smart idea. It’ll buy us some time.

“Do something! The door’s not going to hold!” Hollie grabs furniture, shoving it against the door as a barricade. Muffled thumping and shrieks of metal on the other side of the door has Pyrionflax breaking into another bout of sweating.

Downstairs, Loaders press in on Zylus, Xephos and Minty. The three have found the doors to the engine room; unfortunately, Sjin locked it. Zylus digistructs a rocket launcher– Minty puts her metal hand on it, pushing it away.

“Are you out of your mind? If you fire that, we’ll be sucked out into space!” Minty hisses. “We don’t have enough oxygen to get us back to the rig if that happens!” In her hand, Law punctures each approaching Loader’s eye. She doesn’t miss, pausing to reload between waves.

Xephos levers a panel off, accessing the door controls. Zylus and Minty continue to hold the line.

BebopVox searches through every file that they can reach, running their fastest search algorithms. They calculate that it won’t be enough to halt the Loaders. Until the right access is found, there’s no stopping the machines from overrunning each of the parties or taking them prisoner.

Pyrionflax curses, frustrated that they’re getting nothing from their own search. “I can’t find anything in Sjin’s folders!”

> Keep trying!

“I’m running out of places to look!”

BebopVox dives into the deepest of Sjin’s cached files. Everything here’s synced to Sjin’s laptop; it’s likely that Sjin doesn’t care if it’s breached, with the end of the universe being nigh. The laptop’s back on Pandora with a trusted Vault Hunter. BebopVox trawls through the hidden folders that Pyrionflax can’t see.

Being an A.I. had its advantages sometimes. BebopVox examines the folder. It’s not a folder, it’s an open connection running in both directions. Who or what it belongs to is a mystery, not unless BebopVox pings it, and so they do. They get the barest of confirmatory pings back. The connection’s top-notch and perfectly intact (still proving that Hyperion has an edge over Dahl in that regard).

Intrigued, BebopVox devotes a portion of their programming to run a search on the dates and times the connection was last accessed. With Sjin’s temporary credentials acting as a key, BebopVox concludes that whoever’s on the other end isn’t likely to mind them borrowing their access privileges for a few seconds. The lives of Zylus and the others rest in BebopVox’s hands.

Pyrionflax goes as white as a bleached towel when they notice that BebopVox’s A.I. Core’s dimmed. The lights on the outside fade, switching off. “Bebop, no, come back, don’t leave me all alone here with these murderous robots and a doctor!” They wail.

In the medical bay, the cryogenic pod initiates a thawing sequence. The lights on the console flicker as the program activates. The machinery preserving the body faintly hums as it turns on for the first time in months. Use of the cryogenic facilities were intended to be short-term, not long-term. The glass bonded to the metal via layers of layers of frost and ice, built up over time as the months wore on, like paint being continuously applied to a mural.

Inside the pod, the body’s hand rises, stiffly. Warmth’s returning, in soothing increments. The hand turns this way and that, as if it’s being seen for the first time. The hand feels the curved, cloudy glass with a sense of wonderment. Fingers trace the patterns created by the grooves on their fingertips (they’re called ‘fingerprints’, and every individual’s set is unique– no time for that). 

Breath warms the cramped space as colour seeps back into their body, bit by bit as the thawing continues. It’s not proceeding fast enough. It’s time to take a page from Zylus’ book and improvise.

The body’s hand curls into a fist. The fist slams against the glass, shaking it. Ice sloughs off, dripping onto the body’s pants. Ignoring the cold sensations, the body slams the glass again. The handle rattles, still stuck. The body punches. Under the assault, the pod’s glass shatters. The hand reaches, finding the handle to turn it. 

The handle stalls. Sighing, the body kicks. It destroys the last of the iced door’s glass. The body sits up, clambering out, avoiding catching their body and clothes on the sharp edges. Mist tumbles from the pod, spilling across the floor. The cryogenic pod shuts off, detecting an internal error.

They lean against the console for support. Their mouth forms an ‘o’ as they reacquaint themself with walking. This body has a strange centre of gravity. It takes a few seconds for them to calibrate until they can stand without wobbling. They grin. They pause when catching sight of their reflection in a mirror. They scrunch up their face, concentrating.

Golden eyes adopt a less intimidating shade of blue. They fix their hair too, sweeping the ginger curls back, out of their face and eyes. That’s better. Pleased, the figure makes their way to the engine rooms to intervene.

Outside the engine room, Zylus, Minty and Xephos are pinned down. Minty and Zylus dragged a metal table from a side room to serve as cover. Shots zing off the metal table, bouncing off to crack elsewhere.

A Loader with a bulldozer attachment crashes into the metal table. Zylus is the closest, kneeling while shooting. The Loader’s hand grazes his face as it unfolds. His shield drops too fast, its previous payload of shock boosters not quite recharged yet. He winces. The Loader backhands him. His monocle flies off to hit Xephos in the face. 

Xephos shouts in pain, recoiling. The monocle bounces off their face, sliding down their front. It flips off a fold, hitting the floor. The same Loader who’d knocked it off crushes it.

Zylus stares at the remnants of the broken monocle. He fires Hornet point blank into the Loader’s eye, grabbing the wrecked frame from the floor and scooping it into his inventory. Another Loader takes its place, swinging at him. He guns that one down too with ruthless pragmatism. It’s not all the pieces but there’s no time to stop and see if he’s collected them all, or check on Xephos.

Wincing, Xephos can feel a bruise forming along their face from the flying monocle. Fingers tingle with a building charge for their next attack. They’ve been dumping all the spare energy into their shields.

Junior’s supplementing the charge between dodges. They fire off a pink orb every now and again when peeking out. It fries whatever Loader it collides with.

Junior hides behind Minty, recharging shields whenever they’re not attacking. Minty didn’t have time to lose her temper with them for following, keeping them low and out of harm’s way. She tears a vent open by her knee with her metal hand, throwing it at a Loader. 

The Loader deadpans in a monotone, “Ow.”

“Get in there,” She hisses. A bullet grazes her cheek. Cutting their beam off, Junior shakes their head, pressing against her. “Sonny, get in the vent.”

Again, Junior refuses to budge. Minty sighs, picking up Junior to boldly shove them in, head first. She grabs a busted frame, levering it over the vent. Junior clicks, peering at her. A tiny claw tries to reach her. Minty forces herself to focus on the battle, comforted that Junior’s fine. They can survive being vented if the hallways are exposed to space, while everyone else won’t.

Xephos extends a hand, fingers fanned like they’re about to deliver a high-five. A storm of lightning pours forth from each fingertip, racing from one Loader to the next, frying each machine until Xephos breaks it off. Waving their hand, they grimace. Pins and needles dance up their arm.

“I’m recharging,” They inform Zylus and Minty. Zylus and Minty glance at each other; they’d stopped firing to let Xephos concentrate on thinning the Loaders’ numbers. Junior extends their shield beam from the vent, refilling Xephos’ dying shield to the max.

“Thanks!” Xephos grunts, feeling the scrap of bullets pass them. They slump behind the table, reloading. They’ve been hit several times now to feel the other wounds building along their body, especially on their chest and arms.

The Loaders are wearing them all down, little by little. The three of them definitely can’t hold out forever, even with limitless ammo and an excellent shield recharger helping them. 

Xephos tries not think about what’ll happen if they die. They borrow a page from Honeydew’s book of optimism. Something will turn up. Something  _ has _ to turn up. They can’t die here. They have to live to see Honeydew again, or else they’ll be letting him down for the hundredth time since arriving on Pandora.

A blue and white Loader marches forth, its arms beginning to spin.

“Electric field! Get back!” Zylus backs into Xephos. Minty shifts aside, Junior ducking along the vent to follow. There’s not enough room to fully retreat. It’s the engine room doors directly behind them.

Trapped, Xephos reaches a hand out. Their hand immediately goes numb, pins and needles rippling along their limb to their shoulders. It jumps into their face, sending a current that makes their eyes flicker. Their eyes shut down.

“Xephos!” Xephos can feel Zylus yanking them back by the jacket. Xephos shrugs him off, pushing into the field until they’re completely immersed. The electricity isn’t electrocuting them fully, thanks to Junior. Junior’s straining to reach them, risking being trodden on or shot at. The Loader’s shock equipment negates Junior’s efforts to help.

They can take advantage of this. Xephos flicks their hand like they’re grabbing. The field dies, concentrating in Xephos’ fist. The Loader’s arms stop rotating. Xephos can hear it wind down. They can hear their own equipment devouring the charge, storing it. 

The Loader creaks. That’s all the cue Xephos has before it slams a joint into him. Gasping, Xephos doubles over; something’s cracked in their chest, pain expanding and increasing to a hot throb. The Loader batters them again. Xephos is flung back, pain jolting along a shoulder and their head. It must have hit from above.

Minty guns the Loader down, dragging Xephos behind her. “You idiot!” They can hear the consternation in her voice. She doesn’t get what they did, but can probably guess.

Zylus and Minty cover Xephos as Xephos kneels. Xephos extracts a handheld calibration kit, touching it to the port embedded in the side of their head. Their ECHO eyes explode in colours too saturated and blurry to cope with. It’s an instant headache. Calibrations begin automatically. Vision restored, Xephos shakes their head. Their chest still hurts. Junior hovers by the floor, still hard at work.

“Thanks,” Xephos mumbles, a hand feeling along their head for damage. All doubts of Junior being a hindrance have long since fallen away. Junior clicks once in response.

They shove past Minty and Zylus, reaching out with both hands. Their gun reappears on  their belt in its holster. Xephos begins a storm of their own, using the stolen charge to create one. Loaders fry, sizzling and exploding as the lightning sprays from Xephos’ hands.

The charge lasts for as long as it takes for Xephos to not reciol or drop from the pain bypassing their threshold. They collapse by the metal table. Zylsu has to drag them back. It’s cleared the first lot of Loaders. Others step to fill in the gaps. Xephos sighs, closing their eyes. They don’t have any charge left to use, returning to their gun.

“You tried,” Zylus says. “Thank you.” Xephos nods in acknowledgement.

“When is the rig going to fucking run out of Loaders?” Minty grumbles. She takes another batch of ammo from the box Zylus tore open a few minutes ago. It’s the tenth box so far. She shows no obvious signs of tiring, keeping up the fire.

“When we’re dead!” Zylus retorts. He’s making generous use of Hornet’s corrosive burst effect. Without his monocle, he’s having to estimate, missing his mark at times. Melted Loaders pile in the hallway, impeding the advances of other Loaders. He’d tried burning through the door but the door’s acidproof.

Zylus’ uniform isn’t spared either. Tattered gashes mark his arms and legs. His face is a mess of scratches and gashes, like the other two’s. Smears of red surround the marks from where he’d hastily wiped his face with his sleeve. He stays ahead, taking hits intended for the others and enduring how much his body’s endurance is flagging with every move.

Minty’s hat gets shot off; she snatches it out of the air, ramming it back onto her head. “That’s my favourite hat!” She sounds devastated. Said hat now has a large rip down the middle, extending to the other side. She’s had near misses too, her coat suffering the brunt of attacks. Blood slicks her other arm along her shoulder and side. She licks a thin trail that runs over a cheek from her head. 

Law hasn’t seen this much action in years. Admittedly, it’s the most fun she’s had since becoming Concordia’s sheriff. Dying’s part of the thrill. She never managed to get rid of that tendency from back when she was a bandit on Pandora. She prefers to live rather than die, though.

Teeth grit, she immediately plants a bullet through the eye of the Loader who’d shot her hat; not easy, since each Loader’s appearance is identical to its siblings. There’s at least fifty Loaders present. More arrive by the second to crowd the hallway to join the queue shuffling forward in only one direction.

A Loader makes it past the line. Minty meets it with a few quick shots to the eye. The eye’s protective cover slides over it, stopping her bullets. Minty’s real arm is grabbed. She’s held up in the air. The Loader grabs her by the shoulder socket. Minty winces. It has no idea how hard its grip is, fingers digging in with enough force to leave the wrong kind of bruises.

It starts pulling. Zylus turns, and is kicked aside. He hits the wall, gasping. Xephos starts another storm as Zylus gets to his feet. Minty flicks a side catch on Law’s body. A blade extends. She stabs it into the Loader’s eye before the Loader can rip her real arm from its socket. A flick causes the protective cover to pop off. Minty despawns Law. She turns off all the pain receptors in her arm. 

Gazing right at the Loader, she curls her hand and punches the Loader. The metal plates around its eye are soft, vulnerable. Her hand gropes around, wrapping around the cords connecting to its eye. The Loader doesn’t recoil, dropping her. It swings at her exposed back. 

Aiming from the hip, Zylus shoots it arms off. The Loader executes a spin, trying to dislodge her. She hangs on like it’s a rodeo. Wires tear under her fist as she yanks her arm back. The Loader stumbles, sending a distress signal. Minty tears its eye out, throwing it away. Law’s already back in her hand.

She moves back behind the table, crouching for the next surprise. Her arm didn’t like that very much, the shoulder socket throbbing sharply from the immense strain. She ignores the warning to turn on her pain receptors. Zylus moves so that he’s next to her while Xephos stays far back.

None of them have to use sideway glances to pick up on the exhaustion seeping into the others.

All the Loaders’ arms drop. Their gunfire abruptly ceases in the same second. Each machine smoothly steps back to fill the wrecked hallway’s sides, parting to leave a clear path down the middle. It takes Zylus, Xephos and Minty a few seconds to stop firing back, thrown off by the lack of enemy fire.

Down the middle strides a proud figure. They’re dressed in an austere coat with bright yellow trimming along the edges. The coat reaches their ankles. A white ‘H’ is emblazoned on the chest pocket. A single bullet hole ruins the ‘H’. Aside from a bleeding hand with pieces of glass caught in it, the figure’s unharmed.

Blue eyes regard the three with warmth and recognition. Minty raises Law. Zylus and Xephos follow her lead. The figure grins, surrendering by holding up both hands. A loose glass shard from their hand tinkles as it hits the floor. It shatters.

“If you’re gonna shoot us with those Loaders, then make it fast,” Minty growls. Her voice could snap-freeze lava. Her arm aches from the recoil of her gun. She could switch hands, but her mechanical one’s always been better at handling a gun. She refuses to let the strain show, keeping her hand steady.

While she’s doing that, Junior wriggles through a newly created gap in a vent, keeping close to her.

“Who’s this?” Zylus asks Minty out of the corner of his mouth.

“This here’s Ridgedog, who’s the conniving head of Hyperion’s research and development.” Minty scowls. “They’ve been trying to intrude on my turf for a long time now. Concordia’s a free town so long as I’m breathing. They’ve been trying to fix that.”

“I’m not Ridgedog!” Ridgedog says, shaking their head. Reddish-brown curls bounce as they do so. Their expression becomes thoughtful. They beam, pressing their hands together. “Well, it  _ might _ look that way, but please hear me out–”

“Stop fucking around!” Minty snaps. “I’d know that ugly mug and voice anywhere.”

“Zylus, it’s me!” Still beaming, Ridgedog turns to Zylus. Why they’d be addressing him, he doesn’t understand. He’s never met them before. “It’s Bebop! I found this body and thought I’d use it to call the Loaders off!”

“You found a  _ what?” _ Alarm fills Xephos’ expression. Zylus doesn’t blame them. He’s having trouble understanding what Ridgedog just said. “A body? Where?”

“In the medical bay, being cryogenically preserved! It was already like this when I downloaded myself to it!” Ridgedog indicates the bullet hole in their chest. “The glass was my own doing, I’m afraid.”

“How is that possible?” Xephos inquires, scoping Ridgedog. When they scan them, Ridgedog’s basic profile pops up in their HUD instead of BebopVox’s. “Nobody’s capable of transferring that much into one brain!”

“This isn’t a normal brain anymore! It’s been modified cybernetically.” Ridgedog taps the side of their head, where a hint of a port’s visible. “I could have downloaded myself to anybody who had ECHO eyes, but I’d need a physical connection– hey, I made a joke! My first joke!” They laugh. “This body’s entirely the same way. There’s nothing  _ organic _ left!”

“How can you modify a brain and body to that extent?” Xephos eyes Ridgedog with increasing wariness.

“I guess Ridgedog was researching methods on it, so that’s why they wanted to open the Vault.” Ridgedog shrugs. “That’s my conclusion, based on their personal notes and files I read on Sjin’s laptop.”

“So, how can we trust you? You could be Ridgedog claiming to be Bebop,” Minty accuses. 

“Wait, tell me something that only Bebop would know,” Zylus interjects. “If you can’t, well.” He swallows. “Sorry, but we can’t have you stopping us.”

Ridgedog’s face lights up. “Okay! But I have to whisper it to you, since I don’t think Minty and Xephos want to hear it.” They gesture with an enthusiastic hand, keen to prove who they are.

“Zylus ain’t going over there,” Minty challenges. “You can come over here to him so we can keep an eye on you.”

“It’s very ah, personal.” Ridgedog scratches the back of their head.

Zylus keeps Hornet equipped as he leaves his cover. Ridgedog meets him halfway. Zylus leans his head to Ridgedog’s mouth. Ridgedog is the same height as he is. They whisper to him. With their head obscured by Zylus’ hair, Xephos and Minty can’t lipread.

Zylus’ eyes widen. He steps back,  _ “Bebop!” _

“I told you it was me!” BebopVox’s grin widens. 

“This is going to get  _ really _ confusing,” Minty mutters. She lowers Law, staring at BebopVox. “Mind opening the door?”

“Of course!” BebopVox raises a hand, waving it. The engine door springs open. “There, now we can go in and finish our quest!” They’re pleased with themself, giving off a smugness that hangs off them like a newly donned robe. Who, where and when did they pick  _ that _ up from?

Minty, Zylus, Xephos and BebopVox slip into the engine room. Located at the lowest point of the mining rig (short of the observation deck), the engine room is shaped like a downwards cone, the pointed end gazing upon Pandora’s muddy, blue-grey surface.

Several shield layers in place keep the air circulating through the mining rig. Just in case the room depressurizes, Minty, Xephos and Zylus equip their Oz kits. Concordia’s cannons have stopped firing. The Loaders on the rig’s outside have stopped firing as well.

BebopVox taps their chin. “Since I don’t really have proper lungs anymore, do I really need to wear one?” It’s a serious question.

Zylus automatically answers out of worried concern, “Yes, you do.”

“Sonny, go check on Pyrion and Hollie,” Minty mutters to Junior. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” Junior obeys, pausing at the door. BebopVox opens the door for them; the last Minty sees of Junior is Junior zooming into the vent she’d shoved them into earlier.

“If you say so!” BebopVox cheerfully spawns one; where and when they’d had time to pick up an inventory of their own doesn’t take much thought. “The generators are over there.” 

A point indicates a series of interlocked, semi-circular machines set into the floor and the curving walls. Each gives off a hum and a vibration in the floor that has Zylus’ teeth setting on edge. A large screen projected onto the wall counts down the total time until the mining rig’s done recharging.

“How’s this thing recharge?” Minty asks BebopVox. Now that BebopVox is who they say they are, she’s quick to accept them. Zylus feels that his own reaction had some influence.

“Solar panels, all set on the outside,” Xephos says before BebopVox can. “Whoever designed this thought of almost everything.”

“Indeed! It’s very economical of them!” BebopVox doesn’t appear to mind, examining a console. With a few keystrokes, they change the overhead screen to show a detailed graph of the mining rig’s next output. “Good thing Zylus packed all those power cores!”

Without needing any prompting, Zylus digistructs twelve  _ full _ storage units from a single digistruct module. He lines them up by the generators. A pile of cables builds beside the neat row of storage units. Xephos and Minty gaze, stunned by the move.

“How the  _ fuck _ did you fit all those into your modules?” Xephos asks. “Modules can only hold so much before you break the law of–”

“BebopVox modified my modules so that they’re nearly limitless. So far, I haven’t found an upper limit,” Zylus mumbles as he sets the last storage unit down.

“That was easy! All I had do was–” BebopVox starts to cheerfully detail.

“Save that for later and get to work,” Minty interjects. She rolls the nearest unit off, also grabbing a handful of loose cables. She spawns the first power core, a grey lump of an electronic rock. A flap’s pried loose from the generator in front of her. With a few jiggles and a grunt, the cable and the power core link. 

The holographic estimated output of the rig on the wall ticks up by a fraction. Xephos, Zylus and BebopVox are barely a minute into connecting the extra power cores when Minty’s ECHO device is pinged.

“Flax here, all the Loaders just stopped moving and are on standby! Junior’s back with us and is being a little shit, but Bebop’s gone!” Pyrionflax’s panicked babble pours from Minty’s ECHO device. “Their core’s not doing anything!”

“Bebop’s here with us,” Minty reports. “Don’t worry, they managed to stop the Loaders.” She raises both eyebrows at BebopVox. BebopVox shrugs, still grinning.

“We were really close to having the office stormed!” Hollie says, from the background. “They got in but all stopped firing at us! Pyrion, stop hiding behind me, it’s safe!” Junior’s intense background clicking ceases. “Junior? What’s wrong?”

“Pyrion, I have a body now!” BebopVox chimes in.

“We’ll explain later,” Xephos hastily says after a confused pause.

“Okay, ‘cause it sounded like someone said ‘I have a body now’, which is impossible since we’re the only ones here.” Pyrionflax can’t hide how weirded out they sound.

“No, it’s not!” BebopVox insists. “I found–” Xephos disconnects the call. “That wasn’t very nice.” Miffed, BebopVox frowns at them. Their expression becomes a sinister leer.

“Is Ridgedog still ‘alive’ in there, by any chance?” Xephos quietly asks.

“Nope!” BebopVox connects a power core. “This body was effectively ‘dead’ when I took it.”

“You can’t stay in Ridgedog’s body!” Xephos flicks a cable in agitation.

“Why not? Ridgedog isn’t using it.” BebopVox tilts their head, still wearing that frown. “It’s not like anybody else wants it either.”

“Zylus, we don’t know what’ll happen if we let an A.I. inhabit that body.” Xephos glances at him. Zylus looks between the two, torn. “You make the call.”

“Zylus, let me keep it! Please!” BebopVox pleads. Their face whitens, unusually anxious for once. “I can be of more use this way than if I stayed in my core!”

He flicks through his own library of patchy memories, of BebopVox trying to comfort him through his debilitating bouts of depression. Every time, it’d confined him to his bed.

They’d borrowed a surveyor countless times, parking in the bed next to him, pretending to be something (or someone) that they’re not.

BebopVox urging him to get up, bringing him food and water, trying to get him to drink something at least. BebopVox patiently nudging him into the shower, the surveyor’s actions limited to its miniature tractor beam. BebopVox, talking him through his thoughts even if he felt they never really quite understood.

It’d been all for  _ him. _

“Bebop, you don’t need my permission to stay in the body. You don’t need anyone to order you around anymore, especially me,” Zylus says, softly. “You’re  _ free. _ You can do whatever you like.”

“Zylus!” Xephos exclaims. “You’re not properly thinking about the consequences–”

“Then I could leave you, if I wanted to?” BebopVox considers this, their mouth twisting in thought. All their freckles undulate like a abstract smattering of paint on a piece of loose, flapping cloth. 

Xephos glances from them to him, blinking at the turn of events. Without looking up, Minty stealthily kicks their boot, warning them to stay silent. They hold their tongue in agitation.

“If you wanted to,” Zylus affirms. It’ll be hard parting ways with BebopVox, but if it’s what they want, then Zylus can only support their decision (and he wishes that he could say the same for Daltos).

“But what if I don’t want to leave you?” BebopVox asks, impatiently.

“Then you can stay, I guess,” Zylus mumbles, not looking at BebopVox.

“Then I stay,” BebopVox says like it hadn’t ever been a question in the first place. With that said, they return to rigging the power cores into place.

“When’s this thing ready to fire?” Minty pretends she hadn’t been listening in. It’s not any of her business, but a free A.I. isn’t anything to overlook in the future.

“As soon as Pyrion, Xephos and I finish calibrating the aim,” BebopVox reports, with a wide grin.

“How many times can it fire with all this new juice?”

“It can do small, less powerful bursts, or one, ginormous concentrated one. Either way, once it starts firing, it won’t stop until all those power cores are drained.” BebopVox shrugs. “So I guess it doesn’t really matter which, so long as it hits the target.”

“We’ll leave it to Honeydew,” Xephos says. “He’s got his finger ready on the big red button. I’ll just let him know.” They still look unhappy at Zylus’ decision.

“Is that everything we can do from our end?” Zylus defers to Minty.

“Yeah, that’s all we can do. I hope one of you brought along cards, ‘cause I left my pack at home.” Minty pulls out a cigarette, lighting it in the room. “I gotta check on Junior too.”

“It’s all on Rythian,” Zylus says. “I’ll go with you.”

“Nothing from me,” Xephos says. “Not unless you want me to search with Pyrion for other dirt on Sjin.”

“If Sjin still lives after all this, I’m flying down there to arrest him, so whatever dirt you dig up’s useful,” Minty tells them.

“Sure.” Xephos nods. The three of them glance at BebopVox, silently asking what they’re up to.

“I do have some reinforcements to send to Sanctuary Hole using Ridgedog’s Hyperion accesses. I should do that now!” BebopVox briskly strides out of the room. “I might like being human if I’m always this busy!” The cheer in their voice is difficult to comprehend.

Minty and Xephos give Zylus an look that asks him to sort this out as soon as possible. The pieces of glass stuck in BebopVox’s hand flashes as they leave. Before the door can slide shut, Zylus hurries to catch up.

“Bebop!” He calls. All the Loaders outside are moving back into storage, lining up in front of the modules that’d spawned them.

“Yes, Zylus?” BebopVox slows their walk. Hearing BebopVox’s voice that’s not synthesized or a monotone (as he’s always heard or imagined it) is strange, but not as strange as Zylus thought it’d be. Ridgedog’s voice is constantly playful, like they’re always plotting.

“Give me your hand with the glass in it.” Zylus takes the hurt hand that BebopVox offers him. He’s careful not to jostle it, lest he makes it worse.

“Is this what ‘pain’ is?” BebopVox’s eyes brighten. “It’s different to what I imagined it to be!”

“What did you imagine it as?”

BebopVox shrugs. “I don’t know! There’s a lot I can’t put into words now, since I don’t have my own language to work with anymore!” Despite that cumbersome roadblock, they sound optimistic.

“I’m going to pull out the glass,” Zylus warns once he’s got it gripped between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Yes!” BebopVox nods (a bit too enthusiastically for his liking). Zylus braces for the inevitable flinch. BebopVox  _ doesn’t _ flinch, staring at the hole in their hand that’s leaking blood. “Blood is redder than I thought it’d be.”

Cleaner bots whizzing around the floor vacuuming up bits and pieces of dead robots. One homes in on the droplets of blood hitting the floor. It switches the front brush attachment to a mop. The mop turns a shade of light pink. The bot revolves, spraying a spritz of water atop the site. It zooms off once its job is done, dodging around Zylus and BebopVox’s feet.

He crouches to feed a cleaner bot the piece of bloodied glass (which it accepts with a ‘shwoop’ from its vacuum). BebopVox’s wound is restricted to a small section of their hand, along the side of it, all the way up to their pinky. They must have hit something to cut their hand that badly.

“What were you hitting?” Zylus finally asks.

“A glass door in the medical bay,” BebopVox answers.

“A door?”

“It was stopping this body in the cryogenic pod from decomposing! It was already hooked up to the mining rig.” BebopVox taps the port in the side of their head. That answers how they obtained the body. Only someone as unique as BebopVox could do that.

More importantly, why would Sjin need Ridgedog’s body connected to the mining rig at all times? The answer is just beyond his comprehension, even as the pieces are in front of him. BebopVox didn’t include that part of that analysis in their summarised report back on Pandora.

There can only be speculation until a more thorough report’s compiled with all the gathered evidence. Maybe with BebopVox’s acquired memories, they can help. Is that going to have an impact on their personality and well-being? Zylus can’t answer, and it worries him a little.

“How did you die?” Zylus pries.

“‘I’ believe that ‘I’ was shot,” BebopVox answers. “It hurt quite a bit, and then it eventually stopped.”

“Who shot you?”

“Sjin did.”

“What were you talking about?”

BebopVox draws themself up to their full height, face frowning in thought. “We were talking about Sipsco. wanting to buy the mining rig from Hyperion. Sjin was sent to negotiate. I goaded him–”

“Stop talking like you’re Ridgedog,” Minty interrupts when she finds the two of them. “You’re not them, and they’re not you.”

“But I want to practice! Somebody’s bound to question why I was away for so long!”

“Good point,” Xephos reluctantly agrees. “You weren’t technically dead, just away.”

“As I was saying, I told him, ‘what are you gonna do since I said ‘no’, shoot me?’, and lo and behold, he shot me in a fit of rage.” BebopVox giggles. It’s not really a laughing matter. “And that’s how ‘I’ died. I didn’t wear a shield since I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

“Unbelievable,” Minty mutters. “Sjin’s case ain’t looking good. It’ll be hard for him to wriggle out of his wrongdoings.”

“Good,” Xephos adds, with a vindictive emphasis.

“I believe I also have to retrieve Rythian’s thesis from Sjin’s personal safe and return it to him.”

“Wait for him to get back first, okay?”

“Okay!”

Upstairs, Pyrionflax cradles Junior. Junior’s bean shaped body makes it nearly impossible for them to fully curl up. They rock from side to side in Pyrionflax’s arms. Hollie’s swaddled Junior in a spare thermal blanket. It’s not calming Junior.

All of Junior’s vocal clicks are sullen and distressed, growing softer and softer until they stop. They keep turning their head in the direction of Pandora, as though straining to reach a precious someone who’d they’d last seen over five years ago.

“It’s almost like they know something’s happening to Rythian,” Minty observes. Nobody responds, merely waiting until the signal arrives.

\--

For every Guardian Nanosounds slaughters, another seamlessly takes its place. The constant high from her Siren powers flows through her blood, eliciting a breathlessness that’s different to that of the typical adrenaline rush. She’s never pushed herself this much before. If she wanted to, she could stay like this forever. She drags herself back from that edge, reminding herself to stay grounded like Ravs taught her, back on Digistruct Peak.

Each of the dimensional rifts she creates summons another tentacle with greater murderous intent than the last. She has suspicions that the tentacles may not all belong to a single Eridian imprisoned entity.

A Guardian takes the opening she leaves in her distraction. Its staff slices her across the belly. Her shield blocks the blow, but not the force. She slides back along the platform, her boots slipping on the floor that’s slippery from all the executed Guardians.

Out of nowhere, Will Strife grabs her hand before she falls onto the mosaic below. He guns the offending Guardian in the head and neck. Will gives her a satisfied grin, reloading. His insistence on wearing red and black suit is ridiculous; the suit’s sporting battle damage where his shield’s dropped at the wrong time. His sunglasses are still intact atop on his head.

Across the room, the other Vault Hunters continue engaging the flock. Alsmiffy holds a section of the room in lockdown, the floor around him smeared in black from his flaming gloves.

“Sixty-eight, that’s sixty-nine kills!” Alsmiffy brags, scorching through a swath of foes. Burning, panicking Guardians flap past, each alight. Their cooking flesh reeks of a burnt sweetness, like chocolate left on the stove for too long. Two Guardians drop, ending up sprawled atop each other. Alsmiffy cackles. He pauses. “Wait, I get it. I finally get it! I get why sixty-nine’s so funny! Holy shit, why didn't I think of it earlier!”

“Took you long enough,” Trottimus mutters. He pretends to consult an invisible wristwatch. “It took you several months to catch on!”

“Shut up!” Alsmiffy retorts, shaking a fist at him.

Trottimus’ blue surveyor heals Ross. Ross is licking at a cut on his arm. His tongue swipes across the cut. Morphed halfway between his full werewolf form and man, Ross is fearsome. He’s already munched several waves of Guardians on his own without help.

“I’m still ahead of you in kills,” Ross tells Alsmiffy. The blue surveyor finishes seals the wound. Ross flexes his arm, claws waggling at said machine in thanks. The machine backflips off.

“Fuck you, I’m catching up!” Alsmiffy’s confidence is inspiring. “You just keep ‘resting’ and I’ll just keep racking up kills!” He’s genuinely enjoying himself. showing no signs of stopping his pyrotechnic show. He cocks his hands, finger guns style as regrouping Guardians surrounding him. Immense fireballs spurt from his fingertips.

On one of the viewing balconies. Lalna remotely pilots Larry Robert. Larry Robert’s chassis is wet with accumulating gore. Each shoulder and arm mounted cannon unload a barrage of gunfire and explosive missiles, cutting down swaths of Guardians crossing paths with them.

Lalna’s positioned between the turrets, facing the opposite direction to Larry Robert, covering his beloved Loader with an SMG. His hearing’s protected by sturdy headphones. Goggles pulled over his eyes, Lalna’s immersed in the battle, as invested in the outcome as each of the Vault Hunters are. He’s here, and he’s doing his best to fix his mistake.

Besides Lalna, Ravs radiates a concentrated fury unlike any that Nanosounds has ever witnessed. Whatever’s in his reach is broken, torn apart or bludgeoned. He’s keeping Rythian at bay, protecting Lalna at the same time. Rythian’s smart about staying away from Ravs; Ravs seeks him whenever he exits a phasewalk, automatically charging towards him.

Nobody knows how to deal with Rythian. Panda found out the hard way that bullets passed through Rythian like he’s water. Ravs’ punches and Nanosounds’ tentacles have no effect either. Rythian can’t be hit. He’s still intent on killing Lalna. He’s unpredictable with his reappearances, eluding any attempt to track or attack him.

Each pylon deactivation is announced by a whirring that thrums through the room. The obsidian crystals atop the pylons stop glowing, rendered an inert grey like concrete bricks. Out of the ten pylons, five remain active.

Nanosounds concludes that they’re wasting time, hindered by both Rythian and the Guardians. They all need a new plan before the Queen throws in a new threat to buy time until her escape.

“Will, we need to get to the Vault Key!” She shouts over the gunfire and the chitter from the Guardians.

“I don’t got any ideas, aside from staying alive!” Will grunts, ducking a Guardian’s stab. It misses him, hitting another one. He shoots it in the chest.

Nanosounds covers him with a punch that wrecks a Guardian’s doll face, twisting its neck until it topples with a kick from her. “We need to regroup!”

“I don’t think that’s possible!” Will catches a cartridge of ammo that a passing Panda tosses him. “We’re getting overwhelmed, and Rythian’s still on the loose!”

“If we could all just meet up–”

“Not happening! We’re all too busy fighting these things to stop and think!”

“Then we think on the go!” Nanosounds insists.

“We’re gonna have to, there’s no other alternative!” Will agrees. “Panda’s closest!”

Panda’s running the gauntlet solo, armed with a shotgun with a crosshatch of bullets whenever it’s fired, a sharp knife, a cryo flavoured assault rifle, and a buttload of determination to reunite with Saberial and Teep.

Nanosounds and Will jog to join them. Panda stops firing for a few seconds. The two slide underneath the shotgun’s distinctive burst. “Any news?” Panda asks without pausing in their firing. “I tried offering Rythian a ration bar. He’s not hangry, that’s for sure.”

“Nope, but if you got any ideas for how to stop the Vault and Rythian, we’d love to hear them!” Nanosounds drags a tentacle around the three of them to stop a flying Guardian’s orbs from hitting them. The tentacles sullenly retreats with smoking skin that smells like fried thresher.

“Anything!” Will adds.

“Okay, Honeydew’s trying to talk Sjin into helping us,” Panda observes. Their cybernetic eye never looks away from their current targets.

“What?” Nanosounds and Will exclaim. “Where?”

“Over there,” Panda says, pointing. “He’s not having any luck since Sjin’s about to piss himself. I’ll cover you if you’re going over there!”

“Thanks!” Nanosounds and WIll sprint when Panda turns to escort them.

Honeydew’s waving his shovel around, shouting at Sjin. Sjin’s cowering behind a pillar. He shakes his head. Honeydew swells with anger. It’s a sight to behold, his face rivalling the colour of his vibrating beard.

“This is all your fucking fault, so help us clean up!” Honeydew bellows. Spit hits Sjin.

“I can’t!” Sjin’s curled into an upright foetal position. “There’s nothing I can do to help!”

“You can push back against the Guardians!” Honeydew argues. “Even I can’t do much, and I’m still trying to do my best!”

“What’s the point? It’ll all be over soon. Nothing’s mattered ever since Sips died.”

“He might not be dead!” Honeydew stops waving the diamond shovel. “He might be waiting for you to find him!”

“He hasn’t contacted me since he left for vacation! He’s dead!”

“How can you be so sure?” Sjin’s pessimism falters. He buries himself deeper into his own knees, hands wrinkling his jacket and sleeves.

“I don’t, and you don’t either!” Honeydew roars. “He’s not dead until you find a body, and then you test the body to see if it’s really his! So fucking help us, or die wondering if Sips is really dead!” He breathes in and out, his eyes glowing like heated coals. “Do you  _ want _ that?”

Sjin stops trembling. He unfolds. Once he’s standing, he extends a hand, waving it like he’s dismissing his secretary. Two life-like copies of himself spawn, bearing double guns. The clones take up positions on either side of him.

“So, it wasn’t you who actually died when Rythian ripped your spine out,” Will dryly notes. “There wasn’t enough blood.”

“Will, Nanosounds! About time, I was about to hit him with my shovel.” Honeydew scratches his belly. “How’s the Vault conquest going?” He pauses. “Never mind, I know.”

Sjin flinches. “It was always going to be a copy handling the Vault Key since I couldn’t risk myself.”

“Then what’s the point if you’re not going to open it yourself?” Nanosounds scoffs. “You might as well have handed the Vault Key over and let someone else deal with it!”

“Or not opened it at all!” Honeydew venomously adds. “Even I’m not that stupid!”

“It’s too late to take jabs at me,” Sjin defensively says. “And too late to do anything.”

“Drop it! We’re trying our best, and it’s no thanks to you!” Nanosounds rounds on him. “If we didn’t need help so badly, I’d spike you with a tentacle, just as I said I would back in Friendship Gulag!”

Sjin’s clones turn on her when Sjin flinches like she’s slapped him. Will steps between Sjin and Nanosounds. “We do need your help, but understand that you’re not absolved of all the shit you’ve pulled afterwards.”

“I get it,” Sjin says, with neutral understanding.

“Then move, we need to get to the others,” Will says.

Panda leads. “I’m going up!” They springboard up using a Guardian’s head. The move propels them higher, boots leaving obvious prints on the Guardian’s head. Panda’s next leap takes them to a flying Guardian. 

This one lacks legs, fluttering patterns of free-floating diamonds forming wings along its back. Its hands form guns warped from its white flesh. It opens fire on Panda with  twin blasts of shining orbs. Panda twirls through the air. All of the orbs splashing against scenery. Their boot smashes into the top of the Guardian’s head. Using it as a platform, Panda moves onto its partner after delivering a shotgun round to the back of its head.

“Unbelieveable,” Will mutters. His eyes follow Panda until Panda lands on the viewing balcony opposite Ravs and Lalna.

A flying Guardian chases after one of Trottimus’ surveyors. Panda tracks the Guardian, switching to an assault rifle. A few cryo rounds has the Guardian crashing into a pillar. The surveyor pauses to heal Panda, cartwheeling sideways to avoid the orbs from others trying to hit it. Panda thanks it. It retreats, divebombing to rejoin Trottimus.

Trottimus, Alsmiffy and Ross are together as always. The ranks of Guardians surrounding the three swell. The tallest and the most menacing, the Reapers, lead the assault. Ross growls a warning at Trottimus and Alsmiffy. 

Alsmiffy and Trottimus shuffle back in the small perimeter they’ve been given. Dropping to all fours, Ross undergoes his full transformation. His suit reaches its limit, splitting along the back like a firemelon seedpod taking root after a cleansing blaze. A werewolf matching the Reaper’s height emerges from the suit’s remains, globs of drool plopping from saw-toothed jaws. Claws click against the floor. Ross looks up at the Reaper with clear, yellow eyes.

“Ross has become the ultimate furry, just like he’s always dreamed of,” Trottimus whispers, sounding like he’s trying not to crack up. He squawks when Ross leaps, knocking him over. He gathers up Ross’ digistruct modules, belt and shield, shoving them into one oversized lab coat pocket.

Roaring, Ross’ jaws close around the staff’s handle. He wrestles it from the Reaper’s hands. He spits the staff to one side, going for its elongated neck. The Reaper pierces Ross’ arm with its fingers. Ross howls, ducking to bite off the offending digits. The Reaper recoils. Purple blood sprays from Ross’ mouth when he roars.

Alsmiffy picks the fallen staff up. He grunts. “This thing’s heavy!” He prods an end with a finger, setting it alight. He coos appreciatively at the flaming end. Screaming, he joins Ross in murdering the Reaper with its own staff.

Trottimus faces the rest of the Guardians. He claps his hands, theatrically commanding in a ringing voice, “Helga, Eric, Her, to me!”

His three surveyors veer from their current flight paths to meet as one in the air. The resulting flash of light dissolves, leaving behind a single surveyor. It’s three times as large as one of its smaller counterparts, stripes of blue, green and orange painting the six wings extending from its body. Two extra eyes appear underneath the main one.

It links a dazzling blue beam to each of the trio. Trottimus whips out an assault rifle as Guardians chop at him. With a boosted shield protecting him, none of the Guardians can hit through it. Ross’ fur stands on end; Ross doesn’t notice, tearing into the closest Guardian, the floor turning purple with every kill.

Alsmiffy’s flaming staff goes kaput when the beam touches him and the staff. He stares at his staff, forlorn. Lobbing it to one side, he spins, forming a whirling tornado of fire where he once stood. It drops when he’s finally dizzy.

The surveyor’s beam steadies him. Alsmiffy pops free a cluster of grenades as he reloads. Loose giblets splash across the trio; the surveyor daintily adjusts its height to avoid the worst of it. It looks like the trio got pranked with a dropped bucket of purple paint.

Claw raised, Ross lunges for one of Sjin’s clones before Nanosounds stops him. “Sjin’s helping us!” He pauses, closing his stained jaws. Ross’ eyes flick to the real Sjin. His nose twitches. He turns to Trottimus, making a series of animalistic, gibberish noises.

“How can we trust him?” Trottimus asks. Ross defends him by gently tearing a Guardian’s head free from its neck. Alsmiffy somersaults with a gas boost over a Guardian, slapping the back of its head with a bouncing betty. Its head explodes when the grenade bores in. He escapes the impact with a combat roll.

“I don’t, but we can’t turn down his help,” Nanosounds says, in a clipped voice that still indicates that she’d still love to shove a tentacle through Sjin’s chest. Sjin has no reaction to this.

Trottimus’ expression mirrors her opinion, but he indicates with a nod to his companions that the trio won’t argue with her.

Above, Lalna grabs Ravs’ hand, pulling him onto Larry Robert’s head and back. Larry Robert rockets off the balcony lighting up the room in a barrage of rockets that cracks the balcony in half. The shield holding the stars and the open ceiling in place stammers, returning to its natural state a few seconds later.

The balcony shatters, raining fragments and debris down. The Vault Hunters are far enough that they don’t get hit, but the dust and sand whirling in its wake stirs a coughing bout in those closest.

Ravs drops off Larry Robert’s back. Larry Robert surveys the surroundings, cannons reloading. Lalna swings his SMG about. Rythian emerges from his hiding place, barreling into him. Larry Robert holds their fire.

Lalna’s knocked off Larry Robert with a yelp. He and Rythian skid along the ground for a few metres. Lalna’s shield drains as Rythian’s claws dig into his shirt and chest. The two come to a stop in the middle of the room, near the bridge to the Vault Key. His breath lost, Lalna watches as the fourth pylon depowers, the third starting its gradual decline.

They’re already past the halfway mark for the Vault’s opening. Prone on the ground, Lalna stares up into Rythian’s purple lit eyes. Rythian’s weight presses against his gut and lungs, heavier than his guilt. His heart’s sticking in his throat, sweat stinging his eyes and face. Rythian’s eyes practically burn into his soul and being. Images of a wounded, betrayed Rythian on the Southern Shelf penetrate Lalna’s consciousness.

He whispers Rythian’s name like it’s a prayer trying to reach him, “Rythian, I’m sorry–” Rythian splits his jaws and lowers his head to rip a gigantic chunk out of his neck. Rythian’s hisses, his head snapping back.

Panting like he’s run a thousand miles, Ravs keeps a grip on Rythian’s scarf. A flick of his wrist flips Rythian. He brings him face to face.

“Rythian, you’re ignoring me! I feel underappreciated!” Ravs jokes, smirking. His hair’s tousled, a few strands falling over one side of his face. It almost hides the scabbing scars on his cheek. He’s rewarded with a prompt bite to the shoulder. His face shifts to a teeth baring grimace. He still hangs onto Rythian’s scarf, his hand curling tighter in the fabric’s folds.

Rythian savours the successful attack, his tongue flicking out along Ravs’ shoulder to taste blood. Mouth red, Rythian stares at Ravs. A fractional raise of an eyebrow taunts him, asking him how he’s going to react.

“Ravs!” Lalna’s on his feet, fumbling for his SMG. Larry Robert doesn’t dare fire, limited by the same programming hindrance that afflicts Will’s Atomic turret preventing friendly fire.

Where’s a tesla grenade when he needs one to stun Rythian before Rythian can inflict further damage? He’s only got Larry Robert and a bunch of guns that are useless on Rythian– Lalnable’s keeping his homemade, improvised taser, and probably disposed of it by now. For the millionth time that day, Lalna curses at himself. He’s  _ useless. _

A familiar sound sneaks into his awareness. Lalna traces it to Ravs in a heartbeat. Ravs’ shoulders are shaking, including his bleeding one. The sound’s coming from Rav’s mouth. He’s chuckling, the undertone inviting. The usual playfulness is absent.

“I wish I didn’t have to do this,” Ravs murmurs (ignoring Lalna). His smooth, easygoing composure slides back. The change Ravs is letting happens as fast as Rythian’s own transformation. The difference is that Ravs is still in control as his rage takes the driver’s seat.

He  _ bites _ Rythian on the neck, tugging Rythian’s head back for a better angle. It’s ineffective with such blunt teeth compared to Rythian’s, but Ravs has power behind it; he draws blood too, the wrong kind of blood that glows as purple as the light in Rythian’s eyes and his alien markings. It dribbles down Ravs’ chin, staining his chest (right onto his heart tattoo) and Rythian’s coat.

Rythian reacts like he’s been electrocuted with a thousand volts. He shrieks, flails and lashes out with his hands. Ravs accepts the blows, shrugging them off like they’re nothing more than rain.

He refuses to let go of Rythian’s scarf, his scar counts rising with every hit. Rythian goes for his eyes. Pulling away from  Rythian’s neck, Ravs grabs Rythian’s hands. He pins both down so that the claws point at the ground.

Ross slashes as the back of Rythian’s legs. Rythian screeches in a tongue none of them can recognise. He tries to teleport, failing since Ravs is still gripping his scarf. Ross hops back, growling (Rythian smells  _ wrong, _ a thousand combinations of burnt metal, space, terror, vengeance, blood and a trapped Guardian bound in flesh– Ross’ head throbs when trying to process it).

Rythian twists, swiping at Ross. He misses. Or so Ross thinks; Ross feels a tug at him, the universe turning into a mass of colours with no names, an invisible pressure forcing his body simultaneously forced inwards and outwards. It’s Rythian. Rythian’s trying to drag him into a phasewalk. Ross lunges sideways. When he does, Rythian’s hold on him slips. Rythian aims with his hand, pointing right at Ross’ hunched back.

The line of vertebrate along Ross’ back snaps backwards. Pain explodes in Ross’ body. Ross awkwardly lunges at Rythian, teeth poised to maul him.

Blinking, Ravs holds an empty scarf. Ross slams into him. Ravs grunts, pushing back against Ross. Ross grunts, loping back to Trottimus with his ears flat against his head, whining. The surveyor begins to knit up Ross’ back; Ross whimpers at the healing beam running over him. The surveyor makes a questioning beep, dropping the beam. Ross stays on all fours.

“He says sorry,” Trottimus translates.

“Apology accepted.” Ravs runs a bloody hand through his hair, sighing. He clamps the lid tight on his berserker’s temper, locking it until next time. “Right, that didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”

“What were you hoping to do?” Lalna inquires.

“He’d get turned on enough to stop hitting me?” Ravs shrugs.

“Maybe he’s just had enough of us fucking up his plans and he’s taking it out on us,” Will dryly comments. “Or your flirting.”

“It didn’t hurt to try,” Ravs says. He folds and tucks Rythian’s scarf into the sporran hanging off the front of his kilt. He catches sight of Sjin, frowning. “You!”

Sjin ducks behind Honeydew. Honeydew’s shorter so it doesn’t have much effect. “He’s here as our personal punching bag!” Honeydew cheerfully explains.

“I’m not!” Sjin retrots. Without looking, Honeydew expertly smacks him in the shin with the side of the diamond shovel. Sjin yelps, hopping on one knee.

“You think?” Alsmiffy snorts. “We’re all running out of ammo and ideas.” He jabs a thumb at a pylon. The pylons are down to three. “And those things, whatever they’re called.”

“We could break them?” Panda suggests.

“That would make things worse!” Honeydew rejects. “They’re keeping her trapped!”

“But it’ll bring the final boss out faster!” Panda’s twisted logic earns a contrived look from all of them. “What? You wanted ideas, that’s my idea!”

“At least those are taking forever to power down?” Trottimus says, with a cautiously optimistic note in his voice.

“We only have three left!” Honeydew points, holding up three fingers. “Three! That’s not a lot!”

“I’d say we have roughly about twenty minutes,” Will calculates.

Trottimus’ transformed surveyor and Larry Robert beep at the same time, facing the air above the Vault Hunters. “Belay that, we got incoming!” Trottimus shouts.

The biggest flock of Guardians descends from the viewing balconies, pouring over the edges in a flood of white, grey and blacks. They’re all headed right for them as one.

“I’ve been saving this. Let me buy us some time,” Will notes. He walks forward, the only splash of colour against the bleak, gloomy scenery of the Vault. A neat metal square flips from his cuff link sized digistruct modules.

He lobs it into the air, into the midst of all those Guardians. His turret’s supposed to be attached to a surface to function, not until a sphere expands. It engulfs the tsunami of Guardians like a sun melting all of them into lumps of charred flesh, the aftershock blasting all the remains into freed atoms and dust.

The nuke sweeps over the Vault Hunters, flinging everyone back to the walls and pillars. Larry Robert folds into a mobile form, boosting to get Lalna away to safety. Trottimus’ surveyor is blown back, its tractor beams protecting Trottimus, Alsmiffy and Ross as it retreats as well. Alsmiffy lets out a too soft, admiring moan as he’s whisked away.

Nanosounds spawned tentacles to wrap around herself and Ravs as personal shields; Ravs stands in front of her anyway, holding her close.

Panda’s dropped to the floor, hand wrapped their knife. The knife is an anchor in the floor. Honeydew mimics them with his diamond shovel, Sjin hanging on as well for dear life. He slips to hang onto Honeydew’s legs. Honeydew hopes that his pants don’t tear and that if they do, he remembered to put on underwear. His cheeks form loose pouches as they’re pulled back, revealing gold teeth amongst white.

“Oh no, I let out a little bit of wee!” He screams. Sjin makes a disgusted face as a wet patch on Honeydew’s behind grows.

From the center of the blast drops Will’s Atomic turret. It lands on the floor with a clunk. The clunk echoes through the Vault’s now enemy free halls and main chamber. Beside it stands Will Strife, the man who finally restored the Atomic turret’s greatest and deadliest secret. The Atlas corporation tried to destroy it, and failed, its legacy surviving as a single machine.

Grinning, Will Strife affectionately pats the top of his turret. His turret bobs, retracting, despawning into its portable form. He tucks it into his inventory, striding back to meet the Vault Hunters.

Larry Robert returns to let down Lalna. Trottimus’ surveyor lowers the trio (Alsmiffy dumped rather than lowered). Nanosounds removes the tentacle, Ravs exhaling in relief that she’s not harmed. Panda dusts themself off, flipping the knife into their belt sheath. Honeydew fixes his pants. Sjin shakes; his clones have disintegrated into pixelated skeletons on their knees, bony hands held over their eyes.

It’s no mistake that each of them emerged unscathed. Rythian’s nowhere to be found. It’s eerily silent, no flurry of movement to announce incoming Guardians, no gunfire, save for ragged breathing and drips of sweat. Even the scenery is mute.

“We now have  _ some _ uninterrupted time,” Will Strife calmly delivers. “Let’s use it wisely.”

“Do you think Rythian survived that?” Lalna blurts.

“Don’t worry, I’d say he’s still alive and kicking and is just biding his time,” Ravs easily says. “A nuke wouldn’t keep him down for long.”

“We still have to deal with him,” Lalna mumbles.

“Can you do another one of those blasts on the Queen?” Trottimus asks.

“Don’t think so,” Will explains. “My turret’s been gathering energy for a long time. It’d take awhile to get it to do another one. It was only when Bebop did the installation that I was able to communicate with my turret. I didn’t actually know it was doing that the entire time since I repaired it.”

“Ten out of ten, good explosion,” Alsmiffy says, sighing in bliss.

“He creamed himself, I saw it,” Trottimus jabs.

“And you nearly wet yourself!” Alsmiffy retorts. Ross nods in agreement, huffing noises almost like laughter. Honeydew tries to hide the wet patch on his pants by putting his shovel on his back.

“Back to the topic at hand, people,” Trottimus interrupts. “We can make fun of me almost wetting myself later.” His surveyor runs its healing beam over each of them. It doesn’t restore Will’s wardrobe malfunctions.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of wee coming out!” Honeydew pipes up. Behind him, Sjin’s regarding Will Strife with a mixture of deepest fear and wariness. Will ignores him.

Cracks spread along the shield forming the ceiling between the open night and the concealed Vault.

Rythian's forgotten teleporter clinks against Nanosounds’ leg. The purple blood covering Ravs causes a memory to flicker into her collection. A plan slips into her mind, solidifying as her fellow Vault Hunters look to her.

“Who wants to hear my plan?” Nanosounds yells.

Panda’s hand flies into the air. “Me!”

“You’re not the only one!” Trottimus adds, miffed that his hand got second place.

“Who’s got raw eridium on them?” Nanosounds asks.

“What kind of asshole would be carrying raw eridium on them by chance?” Alsmiffy jeers.

“Do you have any or not?” Nanosounds snaps at him. “It’s part of the plan!”

Alsmiffy and Trottimus glance at each other, and Ross. Ross dips his furry head between the two. He gives a series of strained grunts, pointing at Trottimus’ pocket. Alsmiffy and Trottimus frisk themselves, dumping three lumpy canvas sacks of glowing eridium chunks at their feet.

The other Vault Hunters (and Sjin) proceed to stare at the precious bounty.

“What the  _ fuck?” _ Honeydew explodes with hysterical laughter. “Look at how much you had on you!”

“Nobody judge us, we were planning on selling it on the black market if Sjin hadn’t attacked us!” Trottimus defensively says. “Stock prices were rising when I last checked!”

“We’re not judging you for delivering!” Lured by the gentle light emitted from the alien rocks, Nanosounds extends a hand towards the nearest sack. A hand lands on top of her own, stopping her from touching the topmost chunk.

“What’re you going to do?” Will softly asks her. “Based on what Rythian was trying to do in the Dust, I’m concluding Sirens don’t react well to eridium.”

“They don’t,” Trottimus confirms. He lets out the breath he’d been holding, as with the others. Panda looks the most disappointed. “It’s a short, documented history according to Hyperion, but it’s never ended well.”

“I think I know why my tattoos are always glowing,” Nanosounds says, like each thought is unwinding from her mind. “My powers can never be turned off. I’ve always been in contact with the other dimension ever since I first used my powers.”

“Since you were little,” Will muses out loud. “That makes sense.”

“Refined eridium doesn’t do anything to me since what makes it eridium ‘eridium’ isn’t in it anymore.” Nanosounds is drawing on her knowledge of the eridium extraction processes that are part of her company’s assets. It’d also been why she’d arrived on Pandora. “But raw eridium will do something to me.”

“Wait, don’t touch it yet,” Will advises. “What’ll happen if you touch it?”

“I don’t know,” Nanosounds admits. “I’ve never handled raw eridium before.”

“Because everybody thought that the raw and refined stuff are the same, when they’re really not!” Honeydew slaps his head, almost knocking off his hat.

“Raw eridium’s much more toxic,” Sjin adds. “It can do  _ nasty _ things to people.”

“As all those poor bandits we killed back there proved,” Ravs says. “Don’t look so worried, I’ll stop you if you go out of control.”

_ “We’re _ not going to be enough to stop her,” Alsmiffy corrects.

“That’s why I’m a little hesitant to use it,” Nanosounds says. “Even with all my training I’ve and however hard I try, I might hurt one of you.” Her voice hitches. “Worse, I might accidentally  _ kill.” _

“You got nothing to worry about,” Ravs assures her. “If we can handle Rythian at his worst, we can handle a Siren too.”

“Ravs, have you ever fought a Siren high on eridium before?” Panda asks.

“There’s a first time for everything.” Ravs casually shrugs.

“Wait, if you need to be stopped, I got just the thing,” Trottimus reveals. He brandishes a silver collar, the one Ross was wearing back at Opportunity.

“What’s that?” Nanosounds stares at it. “You sure that’s not Ross’ special toy?” Ross huffs, giving her an offended look. He flexes one of his middle claws in her direction.

“It’s a Siren controlling collar. I built it myself,” Trottimus modestly brags. “It’s designed to suppress your powers. We can get it on you if you get out of control.”

“It’s a bit alarming how you actually built that,” Will says. He still hasn’t taken his hand off Nanosounds’.

“Just trying to be prepared,” Trottimus says.

“So, who’s on Siren duty?” Alsmiffy brightly asks. “Not me!”

“Me,” Panda volunteers, seeing as nobody else looks like they want to. They accept the collar Trottimus hands them.

“Thank you, all of you.” Nanosounds sniffs, trying not to tear up. She wipes at her eyes. “If I take the eridium, I can handle Rythian and get the Vault Key back.” Or die trying, is her vow. All of them hear it, holding her to it.

“How do you know you can handle him?” Lalna asks her. He’s been quiet, merely listening. He knows that there’s not much he can do.

“Lalna, I’m a  _ Siren. _ I was  _ born _ for doing the impossible.” Nanosounds chuckles, smiling at him. “See you on the other side.” She extends her hand. Will takes his away. Nobody interrupts her this time.

In a flash, the eridium’s absorbed, leaving a pile of empty sacks on the floor. Nanosounds’ translucent Siren wings burst from her back, burning into the very air, pressing against dimensions. She vanishes, crossing to where Rythian with a single bound.

Rythian’s lurking at the back of the room, watching and waiting. His presence is unmistakable, a volatile mass of anger directed at Lalna and Sjin.

She punches him. The two exit their home dimension, Nanosounds laying into him with everything she has. Her shield restarts, sputtering. Rythian retaliates, his claws raking across her vulnerable face, arms and shoulders.

The Vault Hunters arrive on the platform as the last pylon falls. Its fall is like a watchtower’s bell tolling. The Vault Door creaks. It splits along the curves forming the symbol engraved on it, drawing back to reveal a serene purple pool. A head emerges.

Draconic in shape, larger than anything that any one of them have ever seen, and coloured as dark as the deepest reaches of space, the Queen tastes her first breath of fresh air in a million eons.

“Vault Hunters, you’ve  _ failed.” _ Her silken, weighed voice slithers into each of their minds, imposing on them a subtle command to kneel. They all stay standing, defying her. “To what do I owe each of you, for the pleasure of your short-lived company?”

“You could fuck off?” Panda helpfully suggests.

“Oh yes, the hunter who never stopped once to think about why their most wanted target never fought back.” The transparent membrane that’s her extra eyelid recedes so that the full intensity of her gaze is focused on Panda.

Trottimus, Sjin, Ross and Alsmiffy shuffle out of the spotlight on Panda. They hold their head up high, refusing to be intimidated. “What’s it to you?”

She chuckles. An invisible thunderstorm fills the room, “If your bullets had shifted an mere inch to the left, that would have done it.”

“Too bad, Teep’s still alive, and they're staying that way until I beat them in karaoke!” Panda firmly says once they get what she’s referring to.

“Come now, wouldn’t you rather have them dead in your arms than have them suffer through the agony that’s life?” The Queen’s teeth are glimmering obsidian crystals, each one the size of a spaceport’s tugship. “They said it themself, they have no wish to be here.”

Panda lowers their shotgun, then raises it to aim at her eye. Their hand’s shaking. An alternate reality impresses on their mind, leaking into their vision like blood threading through water.

They’re seated inside their ship, staring through the cockpit’s window that doubles as another HUD. A message pings in the corner. Panda maximises it, skimming the text.

Silver dogtags share a ceiling hook with headphones. ‘Godfinger’ and the ‘Bee’ shield, both legendaries, rest on top of Panda’s cot. A coating of dried blood forms a flaking crust that sticks to Panda’s hands and fingers. Bits billow down as Panda types back at Saberial.

( – / / ‘FiZone’ is no longer idle. / / –

FiZone: Panda, I need to tell you the truth.

GodOfArrows: what truth

GodOfArrows: was it you who ate my last slice of pizza or was that just me hallucinating

FiZone: ‘Green’ was Teep.

GodOfArrows: no way

GodOfArrows: thatd be a fucking hell of a coincidence

FiZone: I’m not joking.

GodOfArrows: got any solid proof, sis

FiZone: If you still have their ECHO device, try logging in on it using their name. They never logged out.

GodOfArrows: i still got it so hold on

GodOfArrows: was this why you told me to hang onto it

FiZone: Yes.

GodOfArrows: if this is a big fucking joke im ready for the cameras and fifteen minutes of fame now

FiZone: It’s not a joke.

GodOfArrows: they cant be the same person

FiZone: Do you think I would joke about something like this?

GodOfArrows: this can’t be real

FiZone: Panda!

GodOfArrows: im going back to pandora to find their grave

FiZone: Please don’t do anything rash!

GodOfArrows: dont worry im just gonna cry in front of their grave and regret everything including my life

– / / ‘GodOfArrows’ has logged off. / / – )

The grave is solitary, located on the fringes of Lynchwood. Panda sinks to their knees in front of it. Blankness defines the grave’s smooth surface; Panda knew nothing (and still does) about them. The guilt is almost too much to bear, Panda reaching for the shotgun that’d finished Teep off–

“Shoot her!” Alsmiffy urges. His voice penetrates the vision keeping Panda from pulling the trigger.

The shotgun turns until it’s facing Panda’s own chest instead. “Can’t,” Panda grounds out. Guilt lingers, an aftertaste that they despise (and not from how close they’d gone to achieving the outcome of that projected reality). “She’s doing something to me.”

“So long as you’re in this Vault, you’re subject to my influence,” The Queen purrs. “It’s pointless to resist. Now, do you still feel like shooting?”

“No,” Panda surrenders. They drop the shotgun, panting.

The Queen’s eyes cast upon Ravs. Ravs raises an eyebrow, not expecting to be the next one chosen. “We finally meet in person.”

“Oh yes.” Her tongue is forked, as dark as her teeth. Her head leans down until she’s level with the platform and Ravs. “My, such  _ rich _ history you have with Rythian. Did you enjoy yourself on that night?”

“I certainly did,” Ravs easily says. He puts a hand on his hip, his other hand wiping away the dried blood on his face. “I didn’t know you liked watching.”

“Ravs, don’t flirt with the alien queen,” Lalna whispers to him. Ravs ignores him.

“How long did it take you to convince yourself that it wasn’t your fault Rythian left after?”

Ravs scratches the back of his head. “Hard to say.”

“Long enough that it keeps you awake sometimes, wondering how it’d turn out differently. Tell me, do you normally doubt yourself like this?”

“I’m only human,” Ravs answers.

“You’ve also been homesick for a long time.” The Queen tilts her head. “I’ll let you visit your childhood home before I destroy this universe. You weren’t as much of a nuisance compared to Teep and Rythian, and you’d make a magnificent Eternal.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline both generous offers.” Ravs grins. “I’m in this until the end.”

“A shame. I wonder how Rythian will react to your death.” Ravs says nothing, frowning.

The Queen peers at Lalna. Lalna squeaks, shuffling behind Larry Robert. Larry Robert raises all six of their cannons at her. “Your pathetic projectiles and inelegant machine won’t even scratch my scales.  _ Desist, _ you inferior creation.” Larry Robert powers down at her command, slumping pathetically. 

Lalna’s eyes widen. He moves to examine Larry Robert’s eye. “Leave Larry Robert alone!” He spawns a corrosive Maliwan rocket launcher, using his metal shoulder to support its weight. Shooting it will do nothing, he knows. It’s important to still try, the voice at the back of his mind insists, struggling to resist her alluring, mental pull on him.

She laughs, proving how sadistic she is to relish all their pain and fear for intimately exposing each of their secret fears. “How delightful! You’re trying so hard to hide your fear, but your fear is utterly and completely in control of you! I hardly have to do anything.”

“Of course I’m scared!” Lalna swallows. “I’m scared of a lot of things!”

“But you’re ultimately scared of dying, on this little planet, so far away from everybody you’ve ever known and loved. Of course, your biological sibling is here too, which is simultaneously a consolation, and not.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And Rythian will never forgive you.” The Queen smiles, her mouth widening to expose a secondary row of teeth tucked behind the first. “Your first best friend! And your first mortal enemy. He really does want you dead. I can read his heart as well as yours. Right now, it’s full of the deepest loathing. Your death will satisfy him greatly, even as his tears his own body apart to reach you.”

Lalna blinks back tears. He’d tried to stay optimistic. The way Rythian hadn’t held back his killing intent all but confirmed it. The rocket launcher’s dropped back into his module. Resistance is futile.

Trottimus, Alsmiffy and Ross jump when the Queen peers at them. “Never apart, always together, even in death.”

“That’s us alright, we even don’t like to sleep separately,” Alsmiffy quips. “Gotta have one hand down each other’s pants.”

“Cheaper that way too,” Trottimus adds. Ross nods, seeing as he’s still in his other form.

“My, each of you have conflicting fears. Alsmiffy, you fear that your only friends will see you for what you are, a selfish goblin with no other talent aside from causing destruction.”

“Wow, you’re good at this psychoanalysis stuff!” Alsmiffy pretends to clap. His oversized gauntlets clack.

“I should be, since I can see how much it bothers you that you think you’re always dragging Trottimus and Ross down.”

“Ding ding ding ding ding!” Alsmiffy sarcastically mimes ringing an invisible bell by his head. “Got it in one!”

“But that’s not your real fear.” The Queen leans forward. “You fear that  _ this _ is still going to happen.”

Alsmiffy drops his hands, his mind pried open with all the ease of a bandit shucking firemelon seeds from its burnt husk. A vision drops into him like he’s waiting sack and it’s a stone. 

On a first-class cruise ship, Trottimus and Ross clink wine glasses while reclining on beach chairs. The deck’s pool splashes as an empty bottle rolls into it. Both his friends are wearing sunglasses and beach gear.

“Boy, look at all this money we’ve saved up from ditching Alsmiffy on Pandora! It took awhile but we finally did it!”

“We’re living like kings, now that we don’t have to pay for his shit anymore!”

“Good riddance, I say!”

“I say!” Wine glasses clink. “To Alsmiffy, if only he wasn’t such a douche!” Ross toasts at an empty deck chair beside him.

Alsmiffy gazes into the Queen’s eyes. His fire’s dampened, spirit weakened by the psychological blow she’d inflicted on him. His own hands turn on his head; Alsmiffy despawns his gas mask. His ginger hair stands out amongst the Vault’s background. His gauntlets hiss as he aims them at his own head. Ross grabs his hands to force them away. Satisfied that Alsmiffy not longer itching for a fight with her, she moves onto her next victim.

Trottimus stands up a little straighter. “Trottimus, always the rational thinker. Do you realise how much easier it’ll be if you struck out, and found other people with similar talents, rather than staying with these two felons?”

“I tried that already, would not recommend due to the amount of backstabbing.” Trottimus makes a negative buzzard noise from the back of his throat.

“Times have changed. Hyperion would be glad to have you back within its ranks.”

“If there’s a place for Ross and Alsmiffy too, then I’ll join–”

“They don’t want a two-timing con artist and a illegal werewolf causing problems.”

“Pass,” Trottimus instantly says, refusing to be swayed by her words.

His head floods with a image that he didn’t ask for. Helios orbits Pandora, always so that the moonshot cannon faces it. 

In his office, Trottimus signs off his last research and development report of the day. His three prototypes surveyors stay silent in their gilded frames on the wall. The tailored suit he’s currently wearing chafes, around the neck and sleeves; he’ll have to send it back later. His name will earn an instant refund, and a free session with Hyperion’s top tailor.

Congratulatory gifts from corporate executives and scientists at hitting the fifteen million mark for mass producing his landmark creations fill one corner of the room. The Mercenary Day tree’s almost lifted off its pot from how closely crammed all the gifts are. His secretary hums as they shovel another load of wrapped boxes underneath.

Yet, something is amiss. Trottimus’ heart aches; everybody wants the brain and creative force behind Hyperion’s leading researcher and entrepreneur, but nobody  _ gets _ him. He’s been lonely, ever since giving up that apartment he’d shared with two goons and won the lawsuit against Hyperion.

Trottimus leans back in his office chair and contemplates life as he knows it, never knowing what he’d missed.

Yes, he’d thought that. He’d always imagined ways of how his life would improve if Ross and Alsmiffy aren’t part of his tiny world. He can’t deny having these thoughts, the Queen knows it.

Trottimus swallows bitterness as she moves onto Ross.

“Ross. You and I are similar. Have you always been persecuted for your condition?”

Under her gaze, Ross shrinks back into his human form. His back’s hunched from Rythian’s attack. He still hangs onto Alsmiffy’s wrists. Out of habit, Trottimus absently passes him a towel to wrap around his waist. “Well, you’re a freaky alien, and I’m a natural born furry, so no, we’re not similar at all.”

“I was persecuted for my pursuit of knowledge. You’re persecuted for being something that you can’t control. You fear what you are, and have yet to embrace it.”

“Have you seen me when I embrace it? I go on a roll!” Ross’ arms form an undulating wave. He latches back onto Alsmiffy after. “You should see me when I taste blood! But if you’re trying to get me to join you, sorry, majority rules. I’m out.”

“You’ll be tasting your friends’ blood soon enough. I do remember the project that created your kind. I contributed the genetic template pulled from your earliest ancestors.”

If Trottimus and Alsmiffy weren’t so downtrodden, one of them would have asked her if she’s Ross’ distant adoptive great-great-grandmother.

Ross sees himself mindlessly wandering Pandora, becoming a local legend, an urban myth, of werewolf devouring all who came across him. It’s been years since he changed back. He’s forgotten how to. Ross retracts his claws (which had appeared without him noticing) with a self-loathing whimper. Trottimus reaches over to twist the valves to Alsmiffy’s gloves shut so he can’t set himself on fire.

Her next target is to the left of Ross. The Queen brightens. “We have here a talented liar, whose silver tongue has woven quite a web. Will Strife, you lied to stay on Pandora and haven’t stopped since, or regret it. Not many people can do that.”

“I have my reasons.” Will Strife fixes his glasses. Her many eyes make him uneasy.

“Your main one being that you like being a bandit.”

“I’m not a bandit!” Will claps a hand over his mouth.

“Bandits and Vault Hunters are the same to corporate eyes. You’re essentially sabotaging future job chances. What do you hope to achieve by staying here?”

“Gee, I dunno. Stopping you?” Will juts his chin out, trying to prove to hear that he has no fear. He’s bombarded by an image of Parvis mocking him with a silk tie in his grasp. In both, Will’s hand moves to his chest; his tie’s present (and not). Parvis drops the tie into a paper shredder, laughing horribly as Will screams in anguish, dropping to his knees.

“Ah, but you can’t. The last pylon was the final barrier. Now that it’s gone, I can do whatever I please, and that includes wiping all of you out...except for Sjin.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Honeydew mutters. The Queen’s eyes snap to him.

“My apologies, Honeydew. I didn’t consider you a significant enough threat. You still aren’t.”

“You come down here and say that!” Honeydew points the diamond shovel at her; the shovel trembles. Grunting, Honeydew drops it like it’s suddenly made out of lead. He still hangs onto the handle.

“It’s rude to point.” The Queen blinks. “Not so brave without Xephos, are you?”

“Nah, Xephos is the brave one, I’m just the plucky comic relief,” Honeydew admits. “There’s no point in trying to be the hero.”

“Such a pathetic role you restrict yourself to! You may live, to make me laugh.”

“I’m nobody’s jester! I’d rather die!”

“Of course you would, like all the others here claim. Subservience isn’t so bad, once you get used to it.”

“Fuck you–” Honeydew’s mouth forms the words but can’t speak them.

He is a hermit, living in Pandora’s harshest wilderness. His beard reaches his knees, plaited and held in place with ties of knotted grass. Honeydew gathers water from a wall. He passes a grave crudely marked with an ‘X’. Inside the lockbox buried underneath are two ECHO eyes, cut from the corpse that a cult had murdered when chasing a potential lead.

Swirling the dusty water around with a chapped hand, Honeydew mumbles to himself, making noises that could pass for a keyboard’s rhythmic clicking. He swears he can hear the noise on certain days.

Blinking the vision away, Honeydew drops the diamond shovel, sinking to his knees, his fighting spirit dead.

The Queen finds Sjin hiding behind a pillar. “And you, Sjin. You’ve been such a  _ helpful _ pawn. I’ll spare you for last so you can see how the universe ends.” She lifts her head as if scenting the air. “We are missing two guests, a Siren and my rampant Eternal.”

A rift of her creation dumps a clashing Nanosounds and Rythian between the other Vault Hunters and her. Rythian takes one look at the Queen. He ceases attacking Nanosounds.

Nanosounds stares at the amused Queen, then at the crew across from her. “You were supposed to stop the Vault from opening!” She accuses the other Vault Hunters.

“We tried, and failed,” Lalna shouts. “The last pylon fell when you went after Rythian!”

“You had one fucking job!” She snaps. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

“You submit to me, Siren.” The Queen examines her. Nanosounds sticks her tongue out in her direction. It’s ignored. “My, I haven’t seen one with your powers in over a thousand centuries.”

“What powers?” Nanosounds squints at her.

“You hold an exquisite, permanent connection to my prison realm, where other entities reside after the Eridian’s purge. With proper guidance, you could learn and master abilities that other mortals can only dream of.”

“Urgh, you sound like my Mother when she wants me to win a trophy,” Nanosounds grumbles. “No thanks, I don’t want to end up like Rythian.”

“I’m not controlling him, but I did give him the initial nudge on his first visit.” The Queen chuckles. “He didn’t bother resisting at all once he got a taste of the powers right at his fingertips.”

“He’s fought you for over ten years!” Ravs shouts. “What makes you think he gave in so easily this time?”

“He let himself get shot by Sjin.”

“Rythian? Let himself get shot? He’d never–” Ravs insists.

“This is what he felt.” The Queen inclines her majestic head, her scales rippling in the light of the room. “This is what he tried to keep from you.”

Ravs falls silent. “Oh,” He quietly says. One of his hands shakes when he wipes his eyes. He glances at Rythian, looking devastated.

“I simply  _ must _ have a Siren of your caliber for my army! There’s only six of you at any given time in the universe, and what’s good is that I don’t necessarily need you alive.” The Queen throws her head back and laughs. Her laugh is wonderful, strange and diabolical. “Let us begin.”

Rifts press on the space surrounding her, distorting the air around each portal. Hundreds of Guardians begin to pour into the room.

“Will, do that trick with your turret!” Nanosounds shouts.

“I can’t, it’s out of juice!” Will snaps as he deploys it anyway.

Panda bounces off a Guardian to try blasting the Queen in the eye. A Reaper collides with Panda, knocking them down to the floor. Panda sticks the landing. The Reaper lands, twirling their staff. Panda can’t rise in time.

The staff slashes sideways. Panda’s artificial leg is shorn, the end of the staff catching on plates and wires. Panda screams. They take their knife in hand to shove it upwards, into the Reaper’s chest. The Reaper shrugs off the stab.

Trottimus lifts the Reaper up with his surveyor, suplexing it into the floor. Its neck snaps. Trottimus levitates Panda onto their feet, handing back their knife as well.

“Hey, fix my leg with that surveyor of yours!” Panda clutches at their leg, wincing as the severed ends misfire. They shut it off, exhaling heavily.

“I can try a patch job, but no guarantee it’ll last you long.” Trottimus peers at Panda’s leg. “It’s busted. A clean cut all the way through.”

“Dammit! Just wire it back up as best as you can then.”

“Alsmiffy, Ross, cover me!” Trottimus spawns a toolkit, crouching next to Panda. 

Ross tries to transform. He achieves a partial transformation, limping and hunching, his attacks lacking their earlier power and ferocity.

Alsmiffy twists the gas valve Trottimus turned earlier, restoring his gloves. He’s swarmed by cryo Guardians, their frosty auras beating his inferno back until his flames are no bigger than a candle’s. Alsmiffy strains until his hands are extinguished, encased in frost. Without the gas mask, Alsmiffy’s naked face is painted in fear.

Two Guardians stab their staffs into the palms of his hands, lifting him up. Howling, Alsmiffy kicks at them with his skinny legs. A cluster of grenades drop from his wrist modules, bouncing off the floor and up.

The Guardians are reduced to giblets. Alsmiffy’s suit faintly smokes, his legs shredded to his waist. His destroyed gloves despawn. Dropping to his knees, he gasps. Blood drips from his hands where the staffs tore through.

Trottimus is halfway to him when Guardians wreathed in fire descend on him. Trottimus yelps, scrambling back as heated orbs fire at him. 

Alsmiffy dives in front of the orbs, chest turned towards them. The orbs set him alight. Ross and Trottimus scream his name at the same time as Alsmiffy slams into the ground, flailing and screaming.

Panda shoves the surveyor away from them. Panda falls, drawing Conference Call. A few precise shots takes out the fire Guardians, turning them into limp corpses. The surveyor blares an alarm, spawning a nozzle beneath its bottommost eye. Foam spurts from the nozzle, covering Alsmiffy.

Alsmiffy’s barely breathing when Ross retrieves him, slinging over his back. Something cracks in Ross’ back when he does so. He grunts, fighting the pain as Trottimus drags a healing beam to Alsmiffy. Alsmiffy groans, twitching.

Three Guardians lob their staffs. The staffs pierce Ross’ abdomen, forming a triangle. Ross opens his mouth, only to giggle. “That tickles.”

“Ross!” Trottimus tugs ineffectively on one staff. Ross is locked in place, unable to move with Alsmiffy on his back.

“Take Alsmiffy and go!” Ross urges, his voice failing him.

“No!” Trottimus takes Alsmiffy anyway. 

Grunting, Ross tears the staffs from his middle, lobbing them aside. Everyone nearby can see Ross’ intestines bouncing around inside him. Ross modestly covers the view with a hairy arm. He’s back to human form, gasping as blood soaks his legs and the floor.

“Impressive,” The Queen comments. “I wonder how many you can handle before dying.”

“Bring it!” Ross borrows Alsmiffy’s line, flipping her the bird. Bones crack as he abandons the towel and all thoughts of modesty, fur sprouting all over him until he’s a werewolf. The werewolf in front of Trottimus sways, its back still bent. Ross dashes on all fours, surging into the air to leap at the Queen. She laughs as a Reaper intercepts Ross.

Trottimus does the unthinkable: he splits his surveyors apart again. He sends them after Ross. The Reaper seizures when an electric bolt slams into it. Ross lands on the Queen’s muzzle. He sinks a claw in, under a scale, tearing it. The Queen hisses, throwing her enormous head back to shake him off. Ross hangs on for dear life.

The surveyors buzz around her head. A bolt slams into one of her eyes, blinding her. She snaps at it, narrowly missing the surveyor (which blinks in code at its siblings).

Panda shoves Conference Call into Trottimus’ hands, trading it for Alsmiffy. “Shoot!” Alsmiffy jerks and twitches at the transition.

The Queen wrenches her head down, throwing Ross off. Ross hits the floor at an angle, rolling until he hits a pylon. He’s still, his form shaking. He shrinks back to human, bloodied and naked. Guardians descend on him to finish the job. Staffs stab in and out of Ross’ inert form.

Trottimus fires. The Guardians fan out, the shots going wide. He stumbles towards Ross. The surveyors flip in the air, away from the Queen. All three fly in formation, their eyes turning red.

“No, don’t!” Trottimus knows what’s about to happen. The surveyors blink in code ‘farewell’ at him, colliding with the Guardians.

A fireball engulfs the Guardians. All the hair on Ross’ back is singed. Ross slumps onto his front, his eyes glazed with pain. Holes gurgle blood. Trottimus reaches him, using Conference Call to fend off more attackers.

He respawns his surveyors; his surveyors somersault, each projecting a tractor beam to lift Ross, carrying him towards Panda. Trottimus follows, ducking shots and returning his own. Panda switches to a cryo assault rifle, picking off Guardians despite being prone on the floor.

A Reaper lands by Panda. Panda draws a combat knife, slashing through the Reaper’s ankles. The Reaper drops, falling forward. Panda rolls to the side. The Reaper lunges at Panda with their clawed hands. Panda slices their fingers off. White digits splatter, spraying purple blood all over Panda’s face. 

Panda gags, spitting out a mouthful of the stuff. They flip onto their back, switching back to their cryo rifle. Frozen bodies shatter when hitting the floor. A trio of Guardians land, surrounding Panda.

They grin instead of backing down. Panda despawns their gun, drawing a chainsaw. It revs, echoing in the chamber. Panda’s covered in purple, grinning maniacally at the Queen. One surveyor grabs them as they pass, helping them stand and fight.

Meanwhile, Will evades several chasers. He ducks and waves through the crowd, making faint noises of distress at every narrow miss. A blow to his chest knocks him down. White hands claw at his chest, feeling for his tie.

“No, get off!” Will wheezes, dreading what’s next. Slim fingers carefully undo the knot to his black tie. The Guardian presses the tie to its chest, elongated wings fanning out. It somersaults beyond his reach.

Will rolls onto his feet, firing a pistol into each of the Guardian’s faces. The Guardians stagger, but don’t fall. He tracks the Guardian holding his tie hostage with his sunglasses, shooting as he dashes after it.

Lalna successfully reactivates Larry Robert, taking off on his beloved robot to defend Panda and the trio. He fires a corrosive rocket at the Queen. A Guardian sacrifices themself by hurling itself in front of it. Acid sizzles as it evaporates in the air and on the floor.

Ravs battles a horde of Reapers trying to subdue him. He keeps trying to find Rythian between his attacks, fending off each Guardian with precise blows.

A Guardian lumbers from the flock towards Sjin and Honeydew. The Guardian is taller than Rythian by several metres, face covered by an elaborate mask with two clawed extensions. Its long, bullymong sized arms raise. Its palm could easily roll Honeydew into a ball. A series of pink orbs floating above and around its head glow.

“What the fuck is that?” Honeydew screams. The other Guardians are daintier and skinnier, while this one looms, a giant.

“I don’t know!” Sjin screams back. His clones turn their guns on the Guardian. Their shots barely dent the Guardian. The Guardian raises its arms, protecting its face with the braces melded to its skin. Honeydew and Sjin retreat when the orbs start firing.

“Acid! Try that!” Sjin switches to said gun, firing it. “Incendiary!” Incendiary sloughs off its white braces, merely smudging its arm. The Guardian continues, plodding towards them like a slow moving tank of doom. “Cryo!” Cryo slows its walk. It shatters the ice with one stride, ignoring the frost clinging to it. “Explosive!” It merely bats away the grenades and rockets shot at it. “Slag!” Slag paints it purple.

Honeydew panics, swinging his diamond shovel at one orb that’s due to deprive him of his beard. The orb’s slugged back like a ball, right at the Guardian. The Guardian receives the shot to the face. The mask cracks, splitting across its head.

The Guardian groans, the sound echoing across the floor. Honeydew wriggles on the spot, dropping low and readying his diamond shovel. Anticipating the next series of orbs, Honeydew holds his ground. An orb fizzles as it collides with his shield. His shield drops a chunk from its charge. 

Sjin hides behind a pillar, letting his holographic clones fight for him, keeping Honeydew safe from afar.

Honeydew grunts as he swings. The next orb hits the Guardian in the chest, making it fold. It doubles over, holding its chest. Crossings its arms causes the orbs to flare brighter, firing again. Honeydew can feel the muscles in his arms tear as he swings, over and over again, reflecting as many orbs as he can back at the Guardian.

Honeydew and the Guardian totter. Honeyedew’s arms itch like mad, muscle fatigue weighing down his limbs and body. The Guardian’s broken, too broken to move, the orbs smashing their armour and body apart. The Guardian takes one step, and topples.

Shouting in victory, Honeydew whoops and throws his hands into the air (one clutching his diamond shovel). He hears a rip from down below, between his cheeks.

“You tore your pants!” Sjin shouts.

“I did not!”

“I can see it! I can see your underwear!”

His face as red as sunburned skin, Honeydew drags a red jacket from his digistruct module, tying it around his waist to disguise the tear. He momentarily pauses, as if he’s just received a message. “Shut up and aim for the ceiling!” Honeydew orders Sjin.

Sjin (and his snickering clones) and Honeydew aim at the shielded ceiling. Already cracked from the previous assaults, the shield pops when they fire on it. Sand spills into the room. Everyone else sticks together in a loose group as the Queen watches, waiting until the first death.

Nanosounds lunges at Rythian. The two whirl across the room, weaving in and out of dimensions. Rythian knows that it’s her, fleeing instead of staying and fighting.

She screams, ramming him against a pylon’s base; it almost shatters, cracking under Rythian’s back. Rythian wheezes, faltering for the first time. He drops to his knees. There’s her opening. She grabs him by the head, teleporting the two of them to the center of the platform.

Her power trip suggests that she could turn around and rule Pandora, turning it into her own empire to dominate the stars and the galaxies. Her grip on Rythian reminds her of her mission.

Nanosounds gazes at Rythian, her own eyes matching his. He’s in so much pain, and so is she, both their bodies burning from the inside out. There’ll be nothing left of them if they keep burning, fragile human shells too bright for what the Eridians created and tried to gift (or enforce).

She focuses, finding the delicate edge that splits herself and Rythian. She tears it down, the cut on her hand mingling her blood and his so that they’re linked. With her other hand, she forms a conduit between the two of them, and the Vault Key. 

The Vault Key vibrates as it absorbs the energy pouring into it. The pylons react to the power shunted their way, each crystal at the top rising as they glow and blink in harmony, the hum matching the rising melody in Nanosounds’ head, blood, bones and her soul. It reverberates to Rythian, drawing him from the depths of his being to the surface of his mind.

“Nanosounds?” Rythian gasps as all the pain that he’d suffered as an Eternal hits him all at once. His body isn’t a body, it’s a mangled mess of flesh and bone contemplating the precipice and the drop beyond it. “What’s going on?”

“Rythian!” Nanosounds gazes at him, smiling in spite of how much it hurts to realise that he has no idea what he did. “We did it, we’re closing the Vault.” If she doesn’t smile, she might burst into tears. He’s back. He’s really  _ back. _

“Wait, closing it?” Rythian turns his head to see what’s behind him. He freezes when he sees the Queen. His face floods with terror.  _ “Oh no.” _

“No!” The Queen shrieks. Her claws exit the dimension that’s been widening, beginning to shrink. Her frigate sized claws hook into the doorway, cracking it. She shoves back; the pylons stalls. “You shall not imprison me again so easily!” The Queen opens her teeth lined mouth.

In slow motion, Nanosounds and Rythian watch as her immense jaws surge towards them. Nanosounds shoves Rythian back. Her left arm extends. She summons a lone titan of a tentacle to fend off the Queen. Her too bright tattoos are seared into the back of Rythian’s eyes. The Queen’s jaws shut on the tentacle and half of the platform where he and Nanosounds are. It’s too close to Nanosounds, but he’s safe, thanks to her.

Lalna and Trottimus send in Larry Robert and a free surveyor. It’s too late; the two machines are too far away.

Honeydew slams a finger onto his ECHO device’s screen. “NOW!” He screams into it, a second after the coordinates are locked in and confirmed by Sjin’s laptop in his inventory.

A laser from heaven descends upon the Vault. Without the shield doubling as protection and the ceiling, it pierces whatever’s in its path. The Queen is painted white, too bright, for everyone in the room, her darkened, scaly hide no longer visible. Nobody can say how long the laser fires.

When the laser tapers off, Rythian is the first to put his arm down. His vision blurs and sharpens, alternating between the two. His hearing’s taken a hit, the ringing reaching new levels of disorientation. His body’s the lightest it’s ever been in a decade. When the ringing fades, his vision returning a few seconds after.

Two sets of ragged, labored breathing fills the decimated space. One is pained, coming in rapid bursts. The other is leisurely and full, hardly shallow. The ceiling’s truly open to the night sky. Sand trickles from above trickles down along the chamber’s sides, a steady flow that rustles in the background.

Rythian looks to his left when he picks up on Nanosounds’ weak sounds of pain. She grips her shoulder, her body turned away from him. He cranes his head to see why she’s doubled over, on her knees and whimpering, and why the room smells too much like heated metal.

Nanosounds’ left arm is shorn off. The end of it is ragged like a creature’s ripped it loose. Blood is everywhere, smeared on shoulder, her face, side and legs. Her right hand clutches above what’s left of her missing arm. Tears part the blood sticking to her cheeks, tracing along the Siren marks before dripping off her chin. Rythian can’t help her. He has barely enough energy to stand as it is.

Ravs helps her to her feet, leading her away. He takes Rythian’s offered scarf to tie it around the stump of her arm. Rythian finds the other being who’s still breathing. He doesn’t have to look far.

The Queen rests her head against the floor, breathing her last few breaths. Her purple blood coats the mosaic, the platform and the walls. Stars twinkle in the rich, gleaming pools formed around the room. He steps around them, his feet dragging. He has to do this.

There’s not much left of the platform. The pedestal still stands, the Vault Key still inside it. Rythian passes it, reaching the very edge of the platform. Half of her colossal body is still inside the portal to the other dimension. Fighting her when she’s free would have been even worse; this battle had been close, too close for comfort.

He finds no solace in that realisation.

The bullet from Sjin that’s stuck in his chest grates against a rib. Rythian can’t even be sure that whatever rose in his place is completely gone once she’s dead. Without being ascended, his chest returns to bleeding, along with his other injuries.

Raising his hand nearly saps him of his remaining strength. His hand is crimson. One fingertip is purple. He doesn’t know if it’s his blood or hers. The bandages once wrapped around his hand are missing, leaving his scarred hand bare.

Half of her eyes groggily open, finding him. He feels like she’s a supergiant star looking down on the dwarf planet that’s him. Blue drinks in purple. 

He touches her beside the opened eye. Her skin is freezing, numbing his palm and fingers down to the bone. He lets it, the vibrations from her shallow breathing slowing to match his.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this,” He whispers. 

Something passes between her and him. He can’t describe it, a tangential shift in reality that leaves him slightly off-kilter. His body’s not his own, for a nanosecond, and then it is.

All her eyes slide shut. She’s gone. Using the last of his eridium blood, he teleports her back into the dimension that’d served as her home and prison, and now, her eternal grave.

The Vault Hunters are picking themselves up. Without an entity in control, the Guardians shift into standby. Not taking any chances, a few Vault Hunters gun those closest to them down, ignoring what a waste of ammo it is. 

Will snatches his missing tie back, triumphantly stuffing it back down the front of his waistcoat. Nasty grazes mar the side of his head. His sunglasses are still intact. Rythian shouldn’t find that funny. Chuckling jostles the bullet, making the pain intensify.

“We did it! We did it!” Sjin and Honeydew are high-fiving, bouncing up and down. Honeydew stops once he realises who he’s celebrating with, turning his back on Sjin. “Victory lap!”

Sjin looks offended. Honeydew stomps to the plinth. His hand shoots out before he spins around it in a elegant pirouette, before slapping his belly in a bump and grind dance move. He strokes his beard (almost like he’s palming something into it), skipping back to the others. He also nimbly scoops up an orange item from the floor. It stealthily vanishes into the hairy recesses of his frizzy beard.

One of Trottimus’ surveyors keeps Panda’s weight off their damaged leg. The healing beams begin their work on those nearby. Alsmiffy’s unconscious, and so is Ross. Ravs assists Nanosounds. She slips off his shoulder to walk alone.

The celebration’s short-lived. The floor and the ceiling shake, crumbling from where the Queen fell. Sand keeps trickling into the room from the ceiling as the supports groan from the added weight. Pieces of the broken mosaic begin falling into the void underneath it. 

Nanosounds and the others sprint and limp towards the door leading back to the Atlas dig site. Ravs is pausing at the door, staring past her with an agonized expression. She turns, wondering why he stopped when the ceiling’s about to kill them.

Rythian’s still on the platform. The platform’s joining the void, bit by bit. He’s leaning against the empty plinth, head bowed, and his eyes closed.

“Rythian, move!” She shouts through her ECHO device. Will and Lalna stop beside her, watching in horror.

Rythian opens his eyes and smiles. “No.” His voice is so faint. The remaining eridium shards in his back (that Ravs couldn’t remove, all those years ago) dig into his flesh from the inside. He can feel the points whenever he moves. Lalnable’s stitches are split, loose and dragging on his skin.

“What do you mean?” Nanosounds demands. “You can’t just die here!”

“We finished what I started. I can die now.” Rythian closes his eyes, submitting to his fate of a true Vault Hunter’s death. He’s distantly aware of Ravs and Nanosounds shouting at him. This is how it should have ended, ten years ago.

The last of the diminished platform beneath his feel succumbs to gravity. He drops; his stomach hitches, hating the sudden change. What awaits him at the end of the void, he doesn’t know. He won’t find out since two hands are grabbing onto his own. Rythian slams into the wall. It jolts him into opening his eyes. Annoyed, Rythian tilts his head back to see what’s interrupting him.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Lalna and Will chorus together, both breathless from making the mad dash to him.

The elbow of Lalna’s rocket hand is turning white, the metal around the elbow heating up. Will’s torn sleeve is straining, his face pinched in a grimace. Larry Robert hauls the two away from the edge by the back of their clothes. Lalna despawns Larry Robert, helping Will support Rythian. Nanosounds gestures, teleporting the three to the doorway. The chamber collapses in on itself.

Safe at last and outside, Ravs takes Rythian in his arms. He tenderly strokes back Rythian’s hair. He’s repeating Rythian’s name, blinking back tears of relief. People’s faces blur in Rythian’s vision. He can see the stars past Ravs’ gorgeous, tearful face.

Someone has their ECHO device set to a radio channel. An unfamiliar voice with a grin tone speaks, “This is Arsenal, of the Blitzkrieg Blighters, currently broadcasting a message to any surviving bandits through FyreUK’s channel…”

Rythian can’t hear Ravs, the others, or anything, his mind already set on retreating. There’s too much noise, too much light, too much movement, too much  _ pain _ , and he’s already lost too much blood.

He can’t stay conscious. He’s lured by the enticing dark, so peaceful, blissful and most of all, silent. Rythian descends into the eternal void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the end?)
> 
> gg


	15. No Good Death Goes Unrewarded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop, whoop, lil bit of torture in this one, on top of the usual stuff! it gets a bit dicier midway through the chapter. more specifically, there’s forced beard shaving. also, prepare for lots of feels. lots, and lots of feels.

Rythian awakens in fitful spurts. His instincts refuse to budge from the relative comfort of isolated darkness. His consciousness has other ideas, resisting the backwards pull into sweet oblivion. Light explodes in his vision. He shrinks back. The light drags him in whole.

Beeping, so soft and almost inaudible comes from his left. His eyes flutter open. Fabric encases his limbs and body. Blissful air travels over his face. The ceiling is a shade of nondescript grey, clean of dust clumps and blemishes. The grey’s awfully familiar. Where has he seen that before, mostly recently? His mind hands him an answer without much prompting.

This is Lalnable’s clinic, and he’s not alone. Rythian turns his head. His neck pangs. Teep’s parked in a chair beside him, fiddling with their ECHO device. When he turns his head, they despawn it. He can’t actually see their eyes but he can feel their watchful gaze.

Attempting to speak elicits a pathetic croak of a sound from his throat. Teep assists him in sitting up before entrusting him with a canteen. Ignoring his impulse to down as much as he can, Rythian takes slow, methodical sips, as much as he can manage when both his arms are as heavy as a stack of bricks. A lightness fill his sagging limb and mind.

That done, he lets Teep take away the canteen. They stick it on the bedside table for him. Rythian focuses on Teep. The last time he saw them was before the Vault battle. There’s no change to the sling keeping their broken arm trapped against their chest, or in the silent, confident way they held themself.

“Welcome back,” Teep signs with one hand.

“Why am I still alive?” Rythian whispers. Teep can’t have missed the sheer disappointment contained in that question. He doesn’t get an answer, and Teep proves to be as contrary as usual.

“Because all these people insist on fucking meddling, that’s why,” Teep responds in a matter-of-fact manner, as if they’d concluded this some time ago themself.

This is the reality that he’s been dealt.  Rythian doesn’t know what to do aside from close his eyes. He could sink under the wave of gargantuan exhaustion about to hit him. It laps at him, alluring in all its temptation. He could put his head down and sleep for a year, if he wanted to. The pillow is so soft under his head.

Nothing’s stopping him. There’s no Vault to stop, no Queen– he sits up. Blood rushes to his head. The sudden lightheadedness is too intense, dragging him back down.

Teep lets him suffer all this in silence. Rythian’s memories of what happened before he passed out are returning in a dizzying slew of flashbacks. Yes, he got shot by Sjin, then a foreboding period of blankness, the open Vault, the giant Queen, Nanosounds losing her  _ arm _ when protecting him, and the Queen’s death. She’s dead. She’s really dead. And Lalna. Lalna, who’d saved him with Will, neither of them hesitating. The other Vault Hunters had carried out his plan after it’d nearly failed catastrophically (and so, the amount of people he owes rises).

Rythian hadn’t prepared himself for what to do if he lived. Wishing that people hadn’t bothered to save him elicits a  _ fantastic _ amount of guilt. He’s guilty forever and ever. That is, until he’s not. When that day arrives is anybody’s guess. Maybe he’ll just drink himself stupid in typical Pandoran fashion, disgusting people so that they left him alone. No, he has too much pride for that, and his self-loathing hasn’t reached that level of pain.

“What do I do now?” Rythian leaves his question open-ended.

“Maybe you can compare notes with Zylus,” Teep suggests. Despite knowing them for years, he still can’t work out if Teep’s joking or not.

“Where is he? And everyone else?” Rythian stares past the IV stand dangling wires hooked into one of his hands. He wants to  _ know,  _ especially Ravs, and La–

“Here and there,” Teep vaguely signs, much to Rythian’s frustration. “Relax, everyone’s alive,” They add, with a sardonic flick of their wrist to indicate as much.

Hearing that does nothing. Rythian blinks. Wait, no, he’s relieved that nobody had died on his suicide mission. It’s just not reaching his numb heart.

The reinforced window hiding behind the shuttered blinds leaks sunlight. He guesses that it’s daytime. That doesn’t give him any context for how long he’s been incapacitated for. Rythian pulls up his HUD, and promptly sucks in a sharp breath. It makes something that’s already loose in his chest stab into his heart.

It’s been nearly three whole days. That’s  _ three _ days of Ravs and whoever else cared about him waiting for the life changing result of Lalnable’s medical efforts. For three days, Teep must have sat by his bed in a constant vigil, waiting with endless patience.

Rythian’s sense of eternal gratitude for Teep now sits on a level that he can’t articulate. He owes them his very soul, though Teep would probably return it if he tried to give it to them.

A faint rustling attracts his attention. Teep’s peeling off one of their gloves. Rythian blinks. Underneath that glove is a second and thinner glove. Teep rises, holding the other glove. A step brings them close enough to touch Rythian. They swat Rythian across the face with said glove. It doesn’t hurt, the blow possessing all the weight of rushing air behind it. Rythian doesn’t doubt that if Teep wanted to, they could murder him with that glove.

With a satisfied air, Teep settles on their chair again, fixing their glove back into place. Rythian rubs at his face. It’s how he knows that Teep had also suffered with everyone else, wondering if whether or not he’ll live.

“I deserved that,” He admits. There’s a lot that the swat covered. No apology will ever make it up to the people he hurt and let down. To that, Teep doesn’t answer. The silence is lighter than it’d been at the start when he’d woken up. He takes a deep breath, daring to inquire at last, “What did I miss?”

“I’m glad you finally asked.” For the first time since he reunited with them, Teep’s signing contains a trace of emotion to it. He thinks it’s smug joy.

Rythian lies back down to listen about the events following his arrival at Lalnable’s clinic.

\--

The Vault collapses behind Nanosounds. She turns, watching the remains coalesce into a flattened, ruined heap. With that, the Vault is permanently sealed. Nanosounds slows her run until her feet drag along the ground, panting from exertion and pain.

Her left arm’s stump throbs like she’s stuck it into a furnace, a constant heat gnawing from the inside out. Rythian’s poor, abused scarf is tightly tied around it, a burnt red saturating the deep purple fabric. Her tattoos pulse to her soaring heartbeat as her eridium high edges into the dangerous unknown.

Settling dust suffocates her and the other Vault Hunters, irritating exposed eyes, noses, mouths and throats. A familiar metal hand takes her right arm, dragging her to where the air’s less tainted. Her strained lungs sob in gratitude. 

Unable to withstand the pressure within her brain and body, Nanosounds drops to her hands and knees, dry-heaving. Saliva collects at the corner of her mouth. The metal hand departs, abrupt and worried. She forgets that she doesn’t have a left arm anymore, almost face-planting into the dirt. Her hair is a tangled curtain, hiding her ashen face.

All around her, Vault Hunters attend to each other. Will Strife crouches by her. He doesn’t dare touch her, uncertainty stopping him. Her tattoos won’t calm, the glow persisting through her injury.

“Nano, are you okay?” Will calls her name. 

Nanosounds’ hazy vision focuses on his face in her view. “I’ll be fine, if we can reach Lalnable’s clinic,” She gasps. Will wipes at her face with a handkerchief, stopping her drool from being a minor embarrassment.

When she looks up, Lalna is staring at her with the widest eyes possible. Behind him, Ravs is trying to revive Rythian, pressing a hand to the bullet wound in Rythian’s chest to staunch the flow of blood. 

Nanosounds drops her head, a fresh wave of pain crashing through her head. All over her body, her tattoos feel alive, writhing and burning her skin. They might lift off her body entirely, and she’s not sure what they’ll take with them. Attempting to stumble to her feet causes her to fall sideways. Lalna and Will are instantly supporting her, mindful of her bruises and grazes.

Their combined hands on her bare skin make her woozy, drunk with the urge to bring them into her special world. Reminding herself that they probably won’t survive stops her.

“Who’re you?” Trottimus’ shaky voice stabs into her awareness. 

Nanosounds lifts her head. Underneath Trottimus’ hands lies an unconscious Alsmiffy. He looks like a ragdoll that’s been thrown through an incinerator. The three surveyor’s healing beams seal the blistering skin all over Alsmiffy’s body and face. Nanosounds’ stomach lurches at the sight.

Ravs has stopped in his tracks too, a look of tense, wary readiness about him. Rythian stays limp in his arms, his head slumped against one of Ravs’ shoulder.

Panda’s grabbed a downed antennae to use a temporary crutch. Their expression is set to a vicious scowl. Honeydew closes their mouth since it’s hanging open in a gape large enough to catch varkids. Nanosounds follows their gazes. Will and Lalna let go of her, drawing guns.

Sips blocks the path leading to the Fast Travel Station. His doppelganger, Zips, hovers behind him, grinning at everyone watching. Clad in a well-fitting cerulean suit, Sips puffs on a lit, half-burned cigar. One grey hand is tucked into a jacket pocket around a gun, or nothing.

An orange and blue figure blurs past Honeydew, who’s knocked to the ground. Honeydew curses, picking himself up. A hand sweeps a dust cloud from his form and beard. He glowers at Sjin’s back.

Sjin snatches one of Sips’ hands in both of his. His eyes fill with joyful tears. “Sips, you’re alive!” He exclaims, positively gushing with relief and untarnished adoration.

Sips raises an eyebrow, glancing down to see their joined hands. He yanks his hand back, shoving Sjin in the chest. “Of course I’m alive,” Sips says, with a condescending lilt. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sjin falls on his ass with an expression of utmost shock. He stares at him, his mouth open like he can’t comprehend Sips’ cold attitude towards him. Sips looks over his head like he doesn't even exist at the Vault Hunters.

“You vanished and left me all alone on this horrible planet!” Sjin scrubs at his dismayed face with his hands as the tears fall. He inches towards Sips on his knees, beginning to rise.

Sips’ polished loafer lands on his hand, crushing it. With a precise, deliberate twist of his heel, Sjin is reduced to a series of whimpers. “You be quiet, I gotta talk to the mooks behind you.” Sjin meekly obeys, trying not to make any more noise, clearly confused about Sips. Sips keeps his shoe planted where it is. He regards the Vault Hunters like they’re all giant nuisances.

“Who’re you calling mooks?” Panda hobbles over, the end of their makeshift crutch dragging against the ground. Their grimace doesn’t hide the pain dragging at their destroyed limb.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the cyclops.” Sips snorts. “Fancy meeting you here. Where’s your chainsaw?”

“You remember me!” Panda grins a sharp grin. A chainsaw painted in purple spawns in their other hand. “I’m gonna make you join the kitten you took off me.” They might not be able to run thanks to missing a leg, but the helpful surveyor drifting over to keep them upright’s more than enough.

“Oh, her?” Sips lazily says. He chews on the end of his cigar, unperturbed by Panda’s death threat. “Nilesy’s got her.”

“Why does Nilesy have Elsa?” Sjin gives Sips a look that begs for answers. Sips ignores him.

“What? Nilesy?” Panda gapes at him. “I didn’t see a diamond kitten anywhere near him, only a cat!”

“That kitten grew up to be Elsa,” Sips says to Panda. “I bought her for Sjin after Sjin wouldn’t stop asking for one. Sjin looks like he’s on cloud nine when Sips briefly acknowledges his existence.

“And Xephos calls  _ me _ inattentive,” Honeydew mutters under his breath.

“Nilesy’s catsitting,” Sips clarifies. “Dunno if she remembers you, though.”

“She’s gotta. She wouldn’t stop wanting pats from me.” Panda drops the chainsaw into their module, contemplating Sips’ words. “You’d better not be fucking with me,” They accuse. “Or that chainsaw’s gonna chop a lot more off than your shitty cigar.”

“I think Sjin’s already fucked with all of you enough.” It’s the first time Sips has acknowledged Sjin’s hand in events. He breathes out a thick cloud that disperses in a few seconds. “How much you want to let him go, and forget about this happening?”

This ludicrous proposal is met with absolute silence, save for the pitter-patter of rocks still settling from the destroyed Vault’s entrance.

“A million dollars,” Ravs blurts. Rythian’s hand is pressed against his arm like Rythian’s trying to find comfort in his last moments.

“Ravs, bad!” Nanosounds snaps. Variations of telling Ravs off immediately join her outburst. Ravs doesn’t look like he regrets asking though, grinning sheepishly at those yelling at him.

“You should have asked for more!” Trottimus is the only one who hasn’t yelled at Ravs. If the two were awake, Ross and Alsmiffy probably would have agreed with him.

Sips waves a hand. Ash crumbles from his cigar like a dying volcano. He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Money’s yours. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re off.” Sips drops his hand onto the back of Sjin’s neck. Sjin makes a shrill sound. It’s hard to tell whether it’s pain or something else. Sips keeps his grip on him, pulling him up onto his feet. The two and Zips turn to depart.

“Hold it.” Nanosounds heaves herself back onto her feet like she’s doing a shitty push-up. In spite of her absent left arm, she succeeds. She limps towards the three, her teeth grit until her jaw’s sore, her eyes still burning with purple. “Sjin’s not going  _ anywhere _ until he’s paid for his crimes.” Her voice is low, wracked with suppressed pain but filled with purpose. “All of them.”

“I made a list,” Will helpfully says, adding, “If you’d actually care to look at it.”

“What, all that money’s not enough?” Sips stoically regards her and him.

“It is for me,” Ravs says, though nobody takes notice of him.

“You think money’ll make up for what he did to  _ Rythian?” _ Nanosounds hisses. Sips’ eyes briefly flick to Rythian’s form in Ravs’ arms. “You think it’ll make up for my arm? For Alsmiffy? For Panda? For  _ everyone _ who suffered?” Lalna flinches, dropping his head to stare at the ground. Sjin does the same.

Grinning like all this is a highly amusing form of entertainment, a cautious Zips leans closer to Sips. Zips whispers to him. Sips’ expression hardens once Zips draws back like a pleased cat expecting a reward later. Sjin hides behind the two, cowering at Nanosounds’ building rage.

“Flux Inc., huh?” Sips notes.

“Yeah, Flux Inc.” Nanosounds jerks her head back, right at him. “Sjin tried to kill the current CEO and her staff a month ago.” Sjin’s mouth purses like he’s sucking on badly brewed rakk ale. He refrains from saying anything though, heeding Sips’ reminder to shut up.

Zips shrugs, his grin remaining. “Sorry, orders were orders.” He adds, “Nothing personal, but they all survived. At the expense of a few of Panda’s clan.”

The last part hardly catches Panda’s attention. It receives only a shrug. “So they weren’t good enough and died. Big deal.” Panda doesn’t mean to sound callous, but a few Vault Hunters (namely Lalna, Honeydew and Will Strife) give them an alarmed look.

Nanosounds doesn’t appreciate that remark from Zips, her eyes narrowing. “Sjin needs to  _ stay _ on Pandora!” A distorted outline of her left arm forms, rippling in the air. It vanishes the second Trottimus claps a silver collar around her neck. She gasps at how freezing it is against her flushed skin, touching it with her right hand. “Trottimus!”

“Sorry, but we don’t want anything else to happen if you get pissed!” Trottimus retreats to keep attending to Alsmiffy. A surveyor bobs above Rythian, its healing beam connecting to him with its life-saving power.

She sucks in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds. It’s let out in a huff, as she stops glowing, returning to normalcy. Or as normal as she can be when wearing a Siren suppressing collar. Her tattoos have stopped their light show, back to their usual shade of pale purple.

“I’m open to negotiation–” Sips begins in a gravelly, diplomatic tone.

“You two can negotiate  _ after _ everyone recovers and is well enough to do so,” Lalnable curtly states from behind him. Everyone almost starts; he’s in a bloodied surgeon’s outfit, already gloved and a medical mask hanging off his neck. A box of medical supplies is clutched in one hand.

“Cavalry’s finally here. I was just about to say that, since y’all look a bit dead on your feet.” Sips turns to grin at him, knowing that he’s outnumbered anyway. He turns to Will. “I’ll look at that list of yours, if you don’t mind.” 

Will hands him a piece of paper. Sips tucks it into his jacket. Sjin watches him despondently, directing a hateful glare at Will for dobbing him in. Will gives Sjin a victorious smile, wandering off to help Nanosounds.

“What did you do to yourself?” Lalnable lets genuine sympathy cross his face at taking in the Vault Hunter’s states, especially Nanosounds. Lalna tries to hide behind Trottimus.

Appearing from nowhere, Teep pointedly shoves Lalnable towards Rythian, before turning around and walking back up the slope. They avoid looking at anyone else. Ravs is glad to see them, but his expression falls at their abrupt entrance and exit.

“We need to bring Rythian back to my clinic, now!” Lalnable orders. Ravs cradles Rythian closer to him in his arms. “That goes for the rest of you too!”

“Thank you, Teep, for enforcing that,” Lalnable says, with a wry twist of his mouth. He glances at Lalna; it’s not the right time to talk, but Lalna returns the slight, relieved nod he gets. Lalnable is glad that he’s alive, and Lalna’s glad he lived too.

\--

Lalna’s dropped off in Three Horns by the Fast Travel Station. The sky is wrapped in a grey blanket, the sun’s rays sleepily peeking through the rare clear patch. After the last storm, no others grew to take its place. It’s back to the usual drought, though the shoddy forecast by FyreUK predicts another bout of rain in the coming days.

In that time, Sanctuary Hole’s restoration is underway. The Crooked Caber suffered a few hard knocks to the roof and walls, but emerged largely intact. A couple of civilian buildings were flattened from air-dropped bombs. Except for a few injured civilians from the underground battle with the Rats in the Caustic Caverns, none of them died.

Bandits are still burying their dead. Both gangs’ ceasefire was agreed upon in an emergency meeting by Daltos and Parvis. Anybody breaking it is thrown into Turpster’s jail. Revenge is the last thing on anybody’s mind, after all the bloodshed and slaughter.

Corvax left to tend to his arena (succeeding in avoiding Ravs’ return), leaving Turpster disappointed that he hadn’t stuck around any longer. Turpster’s beloved sheriff office had the door stolen during the renovations. He’s sent out a request for it to be returned, and promptly, since people keep thinking he’s open at all hours. 

Nilesy denies any involvement in the theft. He claims innocence due to helping Ravs keep the bar running (never mind the giant dip in business as everyone heals and rebuilds).

Sips’ gun shop has been converted into an emergency provisions point. Daisy and Peculiar are in charge. Clucky’s babysitting schedule cycles through handpicked volunteers. Lalna’s unsure about putting his name down for it; he hasn’t talked to the two, or the people who used to form his social circle. Babies are also not his strong suit.

By now, the story about his betrayal’s definitely been passed around, dissected, reconstructed and scrutinized like experimental rakk ale. Aside from Nanosounds and Will Strife, Lalna’s avoided other people. He’s even avoided Lalnable. He’s here at the clinic to stop procrastinating on visiting, and to lay those rumours that he’s dead to rest. He can’t keep dodging everyone forever.

The clinic’s door gives easily with a gentle tug of the handle. It’s busy inside, crowded with bandits waiting for their check-ups. Helpers lead people in and out of examination rooms to the right hand side of the clinic. 

Lalna recognises the tall Bruiser belonging to Daltos’ gang ferrying teary bandits to the recovery section after helping them catch up on missed vaccines. Most of them chow on lollipops.

Normally visible by his white coat, Lalnable’s nowhere to be seen. Relieved, Lalna sneaks away. The press of people in the waiting room lets him move unhindered towards the private rooms on the left.

Thanks to Nanosounds and Will, he knows which room is Rythian’s. Lalna steps into the deserted, silent hallway, and is promptly met with a presence so concentrated of murder vibes that he nearly backpedals into the waiting room. The source is easy to pin down. Teep is parked on a cot at the other end, staring right at him.

Lalna attempts a friendly grin. Teep has no reaction to said grin. He tries to speak, and what comes out is a terrified squeak. “Hi, I was hoping to drop by and see Rythian–”

Teep reaches downward, drawing a sniper rifle out of a digistruct module. It’s their default, the polished black barrel and body reflecting the hallway lights as it’s hefted up, to point right at Lalna. They’ve rotated their broken arm to support the rifle. It’s causing them some discomfort, judging by how much the barrel shakes. Nonetheless, it’s still aiming at him, and if Teep wanted to, they could seriously execute him right that second.

> Bang.

Lalna flees, not caring if he steps on a few toes in the process. Dirty looks follow him as he emerges in the waiting room, shaking like he’s just dunked himself into a bucket of ice. 

Teep wasn’t joking, their finger ready on the sniper rifle’s trigger. He wonders if he’s the only one Teep’s repelling. His heart sinks when he realises that he’s the only one they’re targeting.

“Lalna!” Lalna looks up when his own name’s called. Will’s passing through the clinic. He’s carrying a silver suitcase. “I was just about to ask Lalnable about you, but here you are.” He frowns when Lalna shakes off the fear to grin weakly at him. “Why do you look like you’re about to wet yourself?”

“I wasn’t gonna wet myself!” Lalna defensively gestures to the doorway behind him. He drops his voice, forcing Will to lean in closer to hear him. “I wanted to see Rythian, but Teep won’t let me.”

“Teep’s not letting people through to see him at all.” Will nods. “Lalnable’s the exception.”

This soothes Lalna by a fraction. “Oh.”

“Lalnable wants to minimize contact to help Rythian get some peace and quiet, but you’re not the only one worrying about him.” Will drops his silver suitcase into his inventory. “Come on, let’s go see everybody.”

Presented with no other choice, Lalna follows him into the main room. It’s no quieter in here, the noise level steady and constant. People look up, and see him. The change in the atmosphere is hardly noticeable, but Lalna thinks that an undercurrent of wariness and suspicion joins it.

Noticing people’s reactions to him tells him who’s likely to shove him off a cliff, or tolerate him after his deeds. Zoeya and Saberial wave at him; Lalna swallows his instant revulsion at seeing Zoeya’s arm. Her arm’s recovering from amputation from the elbow down. No wonder why Lalnable wanted him to drop by; he must need him to sort out prosthetics.

Lalna shakes his head when Saberial and Zoeya gesture for him to join them. He can’t bring himself to witness their disappointment, hot on Will’s heels. They probably want to know what happened in the Vault.

“Hey, where’s Nanosounds?” Lalna asks WIll.

“She’s in the Eridium Blight, releasing all that spare energy,” Will explains. “Dunno when she’ll be back.”

That’s not exactly reassuring to Lalna, who’d been hoping that she’d be here. He misses her company (and her teasing, actually).

Sitting in a rocking chair, Parvis holds Clucky in his arms. The two are zoning out in front of the ceiling mounted ECHOset. Daisy must really trust Parvis to leave Clucky with him. He’s not alone; a few bandits protectively ring Parvis.

“Move, I need to get the trolley through!” Lalnable snaps at one. That bandit hastily moves out of his way as a trolley trundles where they’d been a second ago. He spots Lalna.

Lalna can’t hide behind Will. Lalnable wields the trolley like a snow plow, using it to clear his path until he reunites with Lalna.

“Where have you been?” He sharply demands. “I’ve got outstanding orders for five advanced prosthetics for you!” He spawns five clipboards, shoving them into Lalna’s hands. “Go into my laboratory and start looking these over!”

Lalna stares at the stuff in his hands. Before, Lalnable used to avoid entrusting him with any sort of technical duties. He can’t really explain how wonderful it is to have Lalnable trust him at last with this. On the other hand, he’d expected a gentler reunion, not extra, unpaid work.

The trolley almost ramming into his chest has Lalna hopping into an aisle to avoid being run over. He didn’t think to check on who’s space he’s intruding on. “Well, well, if it isn’t the famous Lalna,” Minty drawls.

Lalna whirls, almost dropping the clipboards. Will’s too busy lecturing Parvis on how to hold a baby properly, while Parvis is asking Clucky if Will’s a party pooper. Judging by the ensuing looks of disgust on their faces, Clucky is the party pooper, not Will.

“Minty,” Lalna whispers. Is backstabbing illegal, and if so, is he going to get arrested for it?

“Don’t look so worried, I ain’t about to wreck your shit or anything.” Minty laughs, at his skittishness. She does lean in close to his face, her arm resting on the back of her chair. “But I’d stay out of Teep and Arsenal’s way, if I were you, and mind the dog.” She consults an invisible watch. “Well, I gotta hoof it back to Sanctuary Hole. Rebuilding towns don’t supervise themselves.” Her strange warning dropped off, and acting like she did nothing, Minty moves past him to leave.

Trying not to look like he’s been spooked, Lalna pretends to look at the clipboards he’s been given. People clear out of his way in the waiting room, mistaking him for Lalnable.

It’s in the corridor that he bumps into another figure. “Sorry–” He’d thought he’d seen the last of this person. Ridgedog tilts their head. Lalna’s clipboards hit the floor tiles. One slides off towards the waiting room. Lalna’s already lifting his arm, the thruster firing into attack mode. “You!” He snaps, his voice shaking. Minty had been warning him about Ridgedog too, in her own way.

“Lalna! I was looking for you.” Ridgedog’s smirk is trying to be friendly. All Lalna gets from it is a vague, uneasy sense of deviousness.

“Why are you here? I thought you died!” Lalna’s metal arm is beginning to warm, uncomfortably along his elbow. The thruster’s not supposed to be held for any longer than it has to.

“Oh, no, no, Sjin failed dismally in his attempt to murder me,” Ridgedog says in a poor attempt to be reassuring, chuckling. “I’m still alive, as you can see.”

Lalna sort of wishes that it wasn’t so, because if Ridgedog hadn’t shoved him into that escape pod as a horrible prank, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have met Rythian or anyone else either. Attributing his fateful meeting to this prick goes against Lalna’s principles.

“Why are you here in Lalnable’s clinic?” If Ridgedog’s here to threaten Lalnable, Lalna is willing to consider hurting his old boss. Hurt, not kill. His last attempt to murder someone backfired. He doesn’t want to imagine how that’ll go down with someone as powerful and unpredictable as Ridgedog.

“To deliver a present to you!” Ridgedog pops a holographic business card into existence between their fingers. They offer it to Lalna. 

“What’s that?” Lalna doesn’t take the card. Anything could be on it.

The card waggles in Ridgedog’s hand. “For you and you only, they’re access codes to the mining rig.”

“Why would I take them?” Lalna hisses. “I’m done with the mining rig!” He doesn’t want to be responsible for it; too many bad memories and not enough good ones to warrant a return to it, unless it’s to turn it off and let it crash into Pandora’s surface.

“You’re not wanted here, so why stay and be mopey?” Ridgedog points out. “There’s other things you can occupy yourself with, until Rythian wakes up.”

“I’m not taking the codes,” Lalna says. “I’m  _ not _ going back to the mining rig.”

“You’ll take the codes, because that’s the only place where you’ll find answers.” Ridgedog calmly puts the card down on the ground, leaning down to scoop up Lalna’s fallen clipboards. They stack them neatly in one pile, holding them out to him. Mind ticking, Lalna snatches them out of Ridgedog’s hands, shoving them into his inventory.

“I’ll take the card, on one condition.” Lalna checks that his arm can handle what he’s planning, running a skeleton diagnostic on it. It returns with no alerts about major problems.

“I know what it is, and I don’t blame you for wanting to slug me.” Ridgedog stands with their hands clasped behind their back, waiting with an expectant grin. “Go ahead.”

Lalna doesn’t need another prompt to lunge, his metal arm slamming into Ridgedog’s face. Ridgedog’s entire body snaps backwards like a bowstring loosening. They hit the wall, falling back against it. They shake their head, grinning at him like it’s nothing. Lalna had felt metal with that punch, hiding underneath Ridgedog’s skin.

Lalna’s rocket arm shuts down, the flap sliding back into place on his elbow. He scoops the card up, turning to storm off in the opposite direction to Ridgedog. Ridgedog watches him with the same smirk, ignoring the stinging bruise on their face.

Hating his life, Lalna departs, knowing that Ridgedog is right about having nothing to do, still despising him anyway.

\--

Rythian’s daily physical therapy consists of climbing in and out of bed, multiple times. He stopped trying to wear a shirt so that Lalnable could change his bandages and monitor his wounds without difficulty.

For some reason, Lalnable fumbled items around him during the first week. Rythian doesn’t think that Teep should tease Lalnable for his clumsiness (maybe it’s genetic, looking at Lalna). Telling Teep to knock it off earned a scowl from Lalnable like he doesn’t need Rythian sticking up for him. Surprisingly, Teep listened.

Eating is its own special challenge. Rythian tries in spite of that. His hunger and insomnia have traded places. He appreciates it when his head hits the pillow and he’s instantly out cold. Teep has the fun job of waking him. They once cited ‘you’re really good in bed since you racked up fifteen hours without trying’.

He hates how he’s dependant on them and Lalnable to keep him going, straining towards a full recovery. It’s a gruelling, extended slog. He’s not even sure if it’ll be worth it, at the end. There’s no single, real reason for why he keeps forcing himself to get up every single day to walk one lap around his room so his muscles don’t atrophy.

After the fourth day, Teep takes one look at his still full plate and crosses their lone, functional hand over their chest. Rythian drops his gaze to the plate, trying not to flush in shame.

> does the food suck or something

Rythian stares at the plate. It’s a light and nutritious meal, fresh from Lalnable’s kitchen. Rythian can smell the food and can see the steam rolling off the top. He should be scarfing this down, not picking at it.

“I’m sorry.” He sets the fork down after pushing it around his plate for another five minutes, failing to work up the drive to dig in.

Teep shakes their head. They fish around in their jacket, tossing down a high calorie ration bar in front of him. It hits the movable table with a sharp thwap, nudging his glass of water out of its circle of condensate.

> i definitely did not give you the ration

“Maybe it just teleported into my mouth,” Rythian sarcastically mutters. He can manage a ration, at least, even if it’s not on the menu.

An emote flashes across their goggles. Rythian stares as he’s unwrapping the ration bar. His fingers freeze while finding the tiny line showing him where to pull.

> what

He puts down the ration, squinting at Teep. “What was that?” This time, he sees it when he doesn’t look away.

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Rythian wants to laugh, feeling it rise in his chest before letting it die. Teep unfolds their arm, mimicking the emote as best as they can. Rythian ends up splutter-laughing. His chest pulls in peculiar places, pushing in others. “I didn’t know your goggles could do that!”   
  


> they couldnt before but panda kindly pointed out that my new ones can

“I can see that.” Rythian eats the ration. It goes down his throat like stale lumps of cake, needing more water to wash it down. His body’s glad for something familiar, or it’s so starved for food that it’ll take anything it can get. Laughing shouldn’t tire him out that easily. Teep tucks him in.

He sleeps in the void for a few hours. Teep disposes of the evidence that he’s straying from the pre-approved menu. Lalnable isn’t pleased that he’s eating so little, but stays silent about it.

Teep and Lalnable are the only two people who visit. It’s not that he’s tired of their faces (Teep counts), but he’s starting to consider escaping so he doesn’t feel cooped up. He doesn’t have his teleporter since Teep confiscated it. In theory, he could try but he’s scared of doing something that he won’t remember.

Regardless, Rythian decides to try making a break for it. He just wants to go outside for a bit, anywhere that’s not his room. Rythian’s gotten out of bed early; Lalnable removed the IVs, tubing and wires constantly tripping him up a day ago. The goal is to get as far as the front door, stick his head outside to feel the wind and then turn himself in.

He’s waiting by the door, pressed against the wall so that Teep can’t see him. It’s foolish but Rythian’s desperate. The door clicks open after a round of gentle knocking.

Ravs closes the door behind him, glancing around. He spots Rythian; Rythian forgets about running, staring at him. Ravs’ faintly anxious expression immediately lights up.

“Rythian, what are you doing out of bed?” Ravs adopts a playful, chastising tone, moving towards him. “You need all the beauty sleep you can get!”

“Ravs–” Rythian responds before he can help himself, then promptly shuts up.

Several slanting scars mark Ravs’ face, skating across one eyelid, his nose and cheek, stopping short of touching his mouth. They’re not hideous; no scars could ever rob Ravs of his handsome looks. 

He’d seen the blood on Ravs’ face, and Ravs had been the last person he’d seen before waking up, assuming wrongly that something else caused it. He remembers that the fingers of one of his hands had been oddly warm and wet before passing out.

Rythian looks down. Someone’s scrubbed his nails clean for him. He lifts his hand, folding it until it’s clenched, his fingers curled inwards. Imaginary clawed nails are added to it. Aligning it to Ravs’ face at a certain angle takes a few seconds.

“Rythian, I think you should get back in the bed.” Ravs breaks whatever Rythian’s accomplishing, trying to herd Rythian back into bed.

Rythian steps back, away from him. He drops his hand, swallowing thickly. “Did I do that to your face?”

“‘Do’ is such a powerful word,” Ravs immediately evades, putting a hand on one hip. “But really, let’s get you–”

_ “Ravs.” _ Rythian gives him a pleading look. He’s not in the mood for one of Ravs’ ‘hard to get’ games.

Ravs lets out a little sigh. “If I tell you, will you get back in the bed?” He’s not joking, his tone devoid of all playfulness.

Rythian turns around and gets in the bed, pointedly folding the sheet over his legs, waiting for Ravs’ answer. He doesn’t say anything about how his body thanks him for it.

Ravs sits down on a chair, adjusting his kilt. He leans forward until he’s close enough to put a hand on Rythian’s arm. He doesn’t, at the last second, his expression too soft for what he says next, “Yes, you did.”

His eyes find Rythian’s hands which are currently clenching the sheets. It’s exactly like Ravs to let him process that statement.

What does it mean, for Ravs to visit now rather than sooner? Did he intentionally put distance between the both of them? Does he hate him? What if this was the last straw? Questions with no immediate answers are creating a situation that Rythian doesn’t know how to cope with. Help. It must show on his face since Ravs’ expression softens further.

“I’m sorry.” Rythian closes his eyes so that he can’t see the scars staring at him in the face. That doesn’t help. He can still see them in his mind.

“Rythian, I don’t hate you.” A slight weight by Rythian’s hand has him opening his eyes. Ravs is smiling, his hand almost touching Rythian’s thumb where he’s sitting.

“Then what?” Rythian doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so sharp. “Do you want an apology?” Maybe this is what Will had felt, back when nobody came to see him back in the clinic. He’ll never escape the blame, no matter what–

“I don’t need one.” Ravs shrugs, and that’s when Rythian also sees the white bandages wrapped around his neck. There’s one winding around his own neck as well, half-healed and scabbing. They look like teeth marks. “It wasn’t your fault.” It’s too sincere. Before Rythian can try apologising, Ravs spawns an item.

He hands him a folded, handmade get well card. Glad to move on from that awkward topic, Rythian carefully separates the two paper halves, fighting back the urge to note out loud how ‘unsticky’ it is. Ravs hasn’t dropped a single innuendo since he walked in. 

The card is crafted out of thin cardboard. Inside, it’s signed by almost everyone Rythian knows. Signatures and well wishes (even from strangers) press against each other, filling up the card all the way to four corners. These are thoughts for him. People  _ care. _

For a wanderer far too used to loneliness, it nearly wrecks him. The key word here is ‘nearly’. Last time, it’d obliterated him. This time is different. Ravs watches him struggle to keep his emotions under control.

Rythian shakily sets the card on the table by him, leaning it against a bottle of water. When he wakes up, it’ll be the first thing he sees to give him strength.

Rythian reaches for Ravs’ hand to take it. His fingers wrap around Ravs’. Warmth surpasses the foreign feel of another hand in his own. It’s comforting, and it scratches an itch he didn’t know he had. Ravs looks at their linked hands. He looks at Rythian. Rythian looks back at him.

“Welcome back, Rythian,” Ravs murmurs, and leans across to kiss the top of Rythian’s head. Rythian tenses. The gesture’s too intimate, too–

Rythian’s surroundings blur. He slumps against a wall, disorientated and nauseous. This isn’t his room. Footsteps behind him force him to turn around. Teep’s standing behind him, holding a mug filled with steaming coffee.

> sorry im late what did i miss

“I teleported!” Rythian pats himself down. He’s not carrying the teleporter, not even his digistruct modules. Unfazed, Teep moves past him and into the room, only to run into a panicked Ravs.

“Teep! Where’s Rythian?” Teep effortlessly dodges Ravs, moving the coffee out of harm’s way. Not a drop leaves the mug.

“I’m here!” Rythian stumbles back into his room. Ravs closes the door.

“Good thing Lalnable didn’t spot that.” Rythian lands on his bed. That unexpected teleport’s drained him dry. Teep presses the mug into his hand as Ravs helps him sit up.

Missing coffee hasn’t even occurred to him. His brain is already looking forward to it, lulled out of its alarm at the sudden teleport, distracted by the distinct aroma. Rythian brings it to his mouth, risking a sip. It’s sweetened by more sugar than he’d like but coffee’s coffee. Teep didn’t put in any milk. They allow him to drink a quarter of the stuff before taking it off him. Rythian sighs but lets them.

“Let the poor man have his coffee,” Ravs protests.

“If I give him any more, Lalnable will shit himself,” Teep signs once they’ve passed the mug to Ravs. Ravs holds it out to Rythian. Teep has a point.

“That’s enough.” Rythian’s revitalised, declining the coffee. He doesn’t feel like there’s a wall between him and the rest of the world anymore. “I don’t know why I teleported.”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Ravs dismisses. He drinks the leftover coffee. “Thanks, Teep. Any updates?” 

Rythian rests while Ravs and Teep share what’s happening with him. Nothing much has changed; it feels like the two are buffering him from any major events, like they’re worried that he’ll fall apart if he hears something terrible.

Normally he’d be offended that they assumed that he’s so fragile. At this point, he’s glad for it. Let him live in his isolated bubble for a bit longer.

He’s on the verge of napping when Ravs stands. “I’ll be back later. You get some rest.” Ravs runs a hand through Rythian’s hair. It’s so comforting that Rythian wants to tape his hand to his head so that Ravs’ hand never leaves him.

He doesn’t want him to go, but understands that Ravs can’t stick around. He has things to do too. He lifts his hand in a little wave, acknowledging Ravs. Ravs tucks him in before leaving with Teep, closing the door after him.

Just like that, Rythian's all alone again.

It doesn’t stay that way for long. His next visitor enters without announcing herself. Minty greets him by tipping her hat. The straps of a backpack cut into one of her shoulders, creasing her duster coat. It’s bulky for a travel-sized one, the topmost flap loose. Her metal arm jerks, making her hand clench and unclench.

“Howdy,” She drawls, ignoring her spasming arm. “Don’t worry about the arm, it’s overdue for a calibration, but I’m too busy to get one.”

“Minty.” Rythian sits up, forgetting about taking a nap. Just having her in the room puts him on an uneasy edge.  She always brings the unexpected. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Oh, it’s conking out since I strained it on the mining rig, but that ain’t your problem, it’s mine.” Minty shrugs as well as she can with a full backpack.

“Did you want something?” He’s as polite as he can be, under the circumstances.

“Naw, I came to deliver something.” Minty drops the backpack onto the bed. Her eyes flick to the digistruct modules on his table. Her hand wrestles the flap down, holding it tight. Whatever’s in there is bursting to be free. Rythian keeps watching her. “Somebody’s been wanting to meet you for a long time.” Her eyes return to him.

“Who?” Rythian’s mind blanks.

She uses her real hand to punch him in the arm. It hurts, though not as much as he’d braced himself for. Her face floats in front of his. “If you make sonny cry, I’ll pistolwhip you into Elpis.” It’s just like her to threaten one of Lalnable’s patients. Why she’s doing so eludes him.

She rests the backpack on the bed’s railing and is gone before he can ask what the fuck is wrong with her. the backpack’s stilled. Rythian leans over, picking it up. It feels lighter than it looks. Curious, he sets the backpack in his lap. Minty’s not the type to enact dangerous pranks. Before his hand can touch the flap, it springs open.

A white Guardian wriggles from the depths of the backpack, zipping up until it almost smacks the ceiling. Rythian screams, scrabbling backwards. His back painfully collides with the headboard.

The Guardian rotates to face him. Its face is like its brethren, angelic and menacing. A makeshift purple scarf flaps around its neck. Claws wave at him. The Guardian drifts downwards, becoming level with his face. Pitch black eyes gaze into his, serene and ethereal.

> hey rythian stop screaming or youll wake up the other patients and theyll want some too

> also happy reunion with ya boy

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Rythian suppresses the urge to snap back something about Teep shutting the fuck up. The Guardian stays aloft, waiting. Rythian slumps onto the bed once it’s clear that no harm’s befalling him.

Other Puttis would have exploded or shot him now. This one’s being patient, for some reason he can’t fathom. The scarf demands his attention. With a jolt, Rythian realises that it’s a piece of his own scarf. His scarf is folded up in his inventory, and it used to drive him mad how one end’s clearly been compromised, and he can’t remember how or why.

How and why this Guardian ended up with it is– no, it’s all coming back to him, in a great wave that overflows into his mind.

He’d forgotten on purpose, suppressing anything to do with the Vaults, including his journey to the Vault of the Sentinel, finding the last fragment of that Vault’s artifact, including the many errors that led to his endless wandering on Pandora. He remembers, and is no less at peace with himself for doing so in trying to atone.

Forgetting Rythian Junior is one of his most horrible crimes yet.

“Junior?” Rythian whispers, struck by how vivid his last memory of Junior is. His last goodbye had been on Elpis, more than five years ago. It explains why Minty’s reunion with him had been cool; she hasn’t exactly forgiven him for forgetting. Yet, she’d brought Junior to him in the hopes of moving him past his trauma. He has no fear towards Junior. Junior’s been silent so far, gifting him with time to deal.  _ ”Junior.” _

He reaches up, and Junior bumps into his arms and chest as they accept his overdue hug.

They click a greeting. The greeting’s in Eridian, and it’s frightening how he still remembers how to translate it. Junior’s skin is eerily soft and slightly chilled to the touch. Despite being as long as his forearm, Junior fits comfortably against his chest, nuzzling into him with evident happiness. They haven’t stopped clicking, filling the air with bubbly, nonstop greetings with his name mixed in.

There’s no shame in crying. Rythian hasn’t cried in a long, long time. He has a lot to process still, and understand why and how things happened the way they did. He hasn’t even scratched the surface of the other, more serious issues. Well, he can always start by acknowledging that Junior’s reunited with him.

“I’m so sorry for forgetting you.”

Junior’s keeping their blunt claws from scratching him, remaining as still as possible. They purr, crooning in reassurance.

Guardians didn’t have tear ducts, or any organic part (which explained how they survived the vacuum of space; it still didn’t explain why they spilled stuff that’s like blood but  _ isn’t _ blood, and he recoils from the answers in his mind waiting for his attention).

A tug in his hands lets him know that Junior wants him to let go. Rythian obliges, letting Junior float upwards. They dart back into his arms like they instantly regret leaving him. “I’m not going anywhere,” He firmly says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

He’s still getting used to having bare hands on a daily basis, missing the comforting layers of bandages wrapped around them. It’s like putting his back scars on display; speaking of which, Lalnable stuck to his word. He extracted every last shard of Eridium from Rythian’s back, or whatever hadn’t fused with him. Shifting on his back to sleep no longer elicits numbing, uncomfortable pinpricks. Well, most of the time.

Nobody’s told him about how his back looks yet. Rythian has a certain idea though, going by touch. It’s not like Lalnable’s leaves a mirror in plain sight for him to consult. Also, asking Teep ‘hey, how does my fucked up back look these days’ seems so random.

Junior nestles against his front, facing the door. The nice thing about them is that they didn’t want or need much to live; just being by him’s enough for them.

Rythian yawns, moving onto his side. Junior wriggles, staying with him. He adjusts the sheet so that they’re also covered, drifting off into another round of undisturbed slumber.

Teep slips into the room to collect the forgotten backpack. They pause, watching the two. Junior’s head peeks over the top of the sheet. They wave. Teep waves back, snapping a quick picture before quietly leaving with the backpack in hand. 

> reunion successful

> hold your applause

\--

– / / JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng has joined ‘we are happy family’ chat. / / –

JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng: hey guys what’s up

TrellimarAleath: nothing much

SherlockHulmes: you’ll never guess what happened

EloraGalanodel: :o what?

Falk: tell us or forever hold your peace

SherlockHulmes: FUCK THAT

SherlockHulmes: I GOT FIRED! F-F-F-FIRED!!!!

SherlockHulmes: insert airhorn noise of your choice here

EloraGalanodel: that sucks!

SherlockHulmes: WHAT? NO, IT DOESN’T!

TrellimarAleath: that’s not how people usually react to being fired

SherlockHulmes: you forget i have the worst bosses and now i don’t have to deal with them anymore

CamBuckland: im gonna be in here and not since im trying to spoonfeed my friends atm

EloraGalanodel: what happened?

CamBuckland: its a long story and it involves a vault

Falk: wait

SherlockHulmes: hold up

TrellimarAleath: yeah hold up

JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng: a vault you say?

CamBuckland: yeah, a vault; my friends and i went and fought one of those monsters inside one with a bunch of other vault hunters

JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng: do you know a guy called ‘rythian’

CamBuckland: ...yes

SherlockHulmes: show of hands who’s met rythian

Falk: boom

TrellimarAleath: boom

EloraGalanodel: o/

CamBuckland: ol

JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng: \o/

SherlockHulmes: are you telling me you’ve all met rythian

Falk: looks to be that way!

SherlockHulmes: describe how you met and helped rythian in one sentence

TrellimarAleath: i busted his friends out of jail by dressing up like my grandma

EloraGalanodel: what trell said

JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng: i strongarmed him into letting me acompany him since i wanted to know about sirens and vaults

CamBuckland: i did a bad and tried to steal a power core from his friend and also tried to kidnap him at some point for interrogation

Falk: i threw him in jail and held him hostage so his friends could do a job for me

SherlockHulmes: he locked me in a closet when trying to take down my bosses

JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng: ...wow

TrellimarAleath: well when you put that it that way, it only sounds weird

EloraGalanodel: you had to be there

CamBuckland: can everyone forget about the part i just typed about stealing shit from him

JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng: wait, what did you steal

CamBuckland: steal what

JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng: A POWER CORE

Falk: why does that sound familiar

JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng: cam?

CamBuckland: yes?

JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng: are you ‘trottimus’ by any chance?

CamBuckland: ...are you ‘nanosounds’

JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng: on the count of three, we reveal our irl identities?

CamBuckland: i’m game if you are

– / / CamBuckland changed their name to Trottimus. / / –

– / / JiǔtóuZhìjīJīng changed their name to Nanosounds. / / –

– / / TrellimarAleath changed their name to Trell. / / –

– / / EloraGalanodel changed their name to Elora. / / –

– / / Falk changed their name to Martyn. / / –

– / / SherlockHulmes changed their name to SherlockHulmes. / / –

Nanosounds: IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ONLY US TWO, THAT WAS UNNECESSARY

Martyn: oh

Trell: oh

Elora: whoopsies!

SherlockHulmes: uh oh spaghetti ohs

Trottimus: WELL THIS IS AWKWARD

Nanosounds: NO KIDDING, I’M FACEPALMING SO HARD RIGHT NOW

Trell: sherlock you didn’t even change your name

SherlockHulmes: I JUST WANTED TO FIT IN! IS THAT SO WRONG?

– / / LobenTrogdor changed their name to Caffcast. / / –

Caffcast: what did i miss, im back from hospital!

\--

Arsenal snaps out of his mildly drugged reverie by the hard patter of sudden knocking. He shifts in the bed, sitting up. Not a lot of people he knows visit him; Daltos, Ravs, Parvis don’t really count.

Dick and Arden scuttle back under the bed, their blunt snouts barely visible. The two remember Lalnable’s dominating expression. One kraggon coughs; a box of gloves ejects, sliding across the floor to rest against a chair. Arsenal nearly laughs, about to retrieve it so he can return it to Lalnable.

Minty steps in at the same time that he realises who’s his visitor. It’s been  _ years _ since he last set eyes on her, and so much has changed, but hasn’t; he’s busy drinking in every last detail like a dying, lovesick idiot finding a red oasis at last to leave a bouquet of bladeflowers.

It’s not enough, to have her be this close and out of reach. Arsenal is already swinging himself upright, poised on the edge of the bed– and promptly forgetting that he’s down one leg, he drops to the floor like a useless bludger. Arden and Dick risk crowding him, inquisitively nudging him and whining.

Minty helps him back onto the bed. Her left arm jerks, stalling and twitching like there’s a wild electric current affecting it. He misses it, staring at her.

“I fell for you,” He whispers as she sits onto the bed, crossing her legs over one another.

Her laugh almost floors him (for the second time), whisking his breath away like one of Ravs’ stray sparring punches right to the sternum.

Age left its touches on her, from the burnished scrub of metal forming her prosthetic arm, her twin braids reaching her waist rather than mid-back, the defined bulk of muscle under her tank top, to the cheeky way she’s grinning at him like they’re always sharing a private joke.

This is what he’d felt on that magical night when she’d first prepositioned him (not the other way around; she always knew exactly what she wanted, and how to get it). It never left him, these tender feelings of affection that ran too deep to be a brief infatuation, but too shallow to be the sole basis of their relationship.

He should probably stop staring at her like a lovesick goon with too big of a crush. She’s currently got that special smirk on her face. Daltos loathes it; it spelled trouble to him (or for, in the grand old days).

Propelled by his resurrected feelings, Arsenal yanks her into his arms, burying his face into her shoulder. Her duster coat and hair smells of faintly charred dust. Fuck, he missed this smell, even if everybody and everything smelled like it too. It’s  _ her _ smell.

The kraggons shy away from her approaching boots, retreating further back into the cramped space that’s underneath the bed. Arsenal hopes that they don’t scuff the clinic’s floor; he’s already seen a few marks from their brief exploration.

“Boy, you look like shit.” Minty’s observation has him pulling back, his hands flying to his own face.

“But I’m hot shit!” His mouth says for his smitten brain.

“You haven’t lost your charm either.” She punches him in the shoulder. Never mind how it hurts, the tender skin panging in the wake of her affectionate punch, he’ll never get over how she’s  _ here. _

“You know how irresistible I am. People can’t get enough of me, you know?” Arsenal tries to prove his point by reclining on the bed in a seductive pose. It’s ruined by one of his kraggons sneezing. “Oh come on, I’m trying to score here!” He complains. He’s answered by the thoughtful sounds of his kraggons sheepishly moving about.

“You’re probably fighting off admirers with a stick.” Minty snickers. He dearly missed that sound, and the way her mouth never drops its smirk.

“That’s if they can get past my jealous chaperones.” Arsenal winks, pointing downwards.

“What, Boner?” Minty raises an eyebrow at the mattress.

“Boner’s twins,” Arsenal corrects, then shrugs at the surprised glance she shoots. “I don’t know how that works, but Zoeya could probably talk your ear off about it. All I know is that I got two very loving Boners now and I love it.”

“They seem a little skittish.” Minty shifts off the bed to try to peer under it. The kraggons react by scooting up against the wall. He could reach over and grab a tail through the gap between the bed and wall.

“It’s because you’re too badass! Stop being badass!” Arsenal sticks his hand over the side to reassure them that he’s still alive.

Dick, the bolder of the two, licks his hand. The sensation is like he’s rubbing a soft, dry blanket wrapped around a hot water bottle. Arden affectionately headbutts his hand instead.

“Can’t, why would I ever want to stop being badass?” Minty tosses her hair. She beams at the two kraggons. The two kraggons realise together that she’s watching them and open their mouths to bark.

“No barking, that’s rude,” Arsenal hastily instructs. Arden and Dick whine. “She’s cool.” The two slink over to her, investigating her boots.

“How can you even tell them apart?”

“Arden’s the one with the longer tail. Dick’s the one with the pointier snout,” Arsenal explains while grinning. It makes no sense to anybody who isn’t him. “Arden and Dick, Minty. Minty, Arden and Dick.” The kraggons pay no attention to him, distracted by her bootlaces. One gnaws on the frayed end, gumming it.

Minty glances from him to them, her expression nonplussed. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I would never,  _ ever _ , fuck with you,” Arsenal responds sweetly. He waggles his eyebrows. Minty rests a hand on his right thigh. A suggestive squeeze makes the rest of his remark die.

“Looks like I still got the touch,” She casually observes.

“You do,” Arsenal whispers. “Hey, don’t chew on her boots!” Arden stops licking her boots. Dick noses the other kraggon. This starts a wrestling match, the two rolling across the floor.

“You know I’m with Hollie now, yeah?” Minty reminds.

“Yeah, yeah.” Arsenal gently moves her hand from his thigh to the bed instead. “Yeah.”

“She’s helping with patients over at Sanctuary Hole, if you’re wondering.”

“She know you’re hitting me up?” Arsenal rubs at the back of his head. “I don’t want things to get awkward between you two if she doesn’t.”

“Calm down, she wanted to come and visit too, but I told her to look after her patients first.” Minty lifts her feet up to avoid the scuffling kraggons bumping into her.

“That’s real sweet,” Arsenal quotes, in his best imitation of Minty’s accent.

“Anybody else swung by to see you?”

“Aside from you, there’s been doc– that’s Lalnable, Ravs, Teep, Trell, Elora, Parvis, Hawker and Siebel,” Arsenal recites. “And Daltos, through ECHO. But get this, nobody’s brought me flowers!” Arsenal spawns a canteen he’d sliced in half. “I even got a vase ready!” He gives her a sad look. “Alright, it’s shit, but it can hold a bunch of flowers just fine.” He pointedly places it by his bed.

She laughs again. It’s offset by her expression turning serious. “You’re missing someone from that list.”

“Am I?” Arsenal shakes his head. “Naw, there can’t be anybody else who’d want to see me.”

“I’m gonna have to prove you wrong. I’ll come back later to rib you for not telling me shit, since there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Minty turns to address whoever’s lurking beyond the doorway. Whoever it is is standing beyond Arsenal’s line of sight. She stoops to pat the two kraggons bounding towards her like they know that she’s leaving.

Arden and Dick crowd around her, desperate for healthy doses of pats and attention, panting and huffing like they’re starving. She’s gone. He misses her already.

Arsenal doesn’t have time to ask who she’d like him to meet because Lomadia steps in.

His heart doesn’t do anything, and then it’s trying to do a hundred things at once. Should it flip? Try to exit his body through his mouth? Tell his stomach to spawn butterflies? Curl up in nostalgia? Burst with happiness? Benchpress his lungs until he can’t breathe? It’s a big mess in his chest, and thanks to Minty’s presence, he’s already emotionally compromised.

Lomadia runs to him. Arsenal catches her with open arms, the bed creaking. Her hands wrap around the middle of his back, her nails lightly digging into the sore skin there. He can’t– he literally can’t feel anything, a thousand thoughts competing with each other to be heard.

“Arsenal.” Oh, she’s saying his  _ name. _

“Lomadia.” Arsenal risks putting his hand on her face, tucking a braid behind her ear so he can look at her. She lets him. He hopes her rakk doesn’t smash through a window and rip his hand off for touching her.

If she’s bawling, he’s bawling too. Fuck that shit, but he’s so overwhelmed that he can’t help it.

“I never forgot you,” Lomadia whispers. “Never.”

Why is everyone beating him to all the cool lines today? Arsenal resorts to hugging her, trying to soothe her and himself. She never forgot him. How is he supposed to feel about that, and how she saved him from Arado? He owes her so  _ much. _ It kills him a little bit that he’ll never be able to express it with words.

Sensing his distress, Dick and Arden pant by the bed, whining. Lalnable’s banned them from hopping onto the bed to curl up with Arsenal. The two make do by obediently sitting and making sounds to get his attention instead.

Lomadia sniffs, watching them in that steady way of hers that he remembers.

“I’m fine, it’s all good, move along, go stare at the wall or something,” Arsenal finally says. The two stare at him, not believing it. “If you wanna help, fetch some tissues.”

Arden and Dick scamper off. Dick heads towards the drawers on the other side of the room. Arden charges at the table, ramming it. The box of tissues’s jostled and bumped until it lands by their jaws. They grab it; Dick chases them across the room, wanting it as well. The two end up carrying the box together, dropping it at Lomadia’s feet. It’s smooshed and battered, but it’s still intact. The kraggons look so proud of themselves that Lomadia giggles.

Like Minty’s laugh, Arsenal could spend days in a euphoria just from hearing it.

He pats his kraggons, leaning down to do so. Any prolonged aches in his back as a result’s worth it. The orange that forms the kraggon’s mouths triggers a memory of a fabric that used to wrap around his leg. 

“Hey, this is yours.” Arsenal grabs his modules, pulling out a bandanna that was once hers.

It’s gotten worse; the second round of blood refuses to leave. Parvis told him that he’d be able to bleach it, if he really wanted the bloodstains gone. Arsenal refused. The pattern’s too cute to be ruined, and it’s just a bit of blood (which is harmless once it’s dried).

“You still have it.” Lomadia’s incredulous. He doesn’t blame her. “Arsenal–”

“Sorry about the stains. It’s a long story.” Arsenal knows that it’s silly to hang onto a bit of old fabric that’s worn to the point of the pattern becoming invisible, Boner chewed on it so that one side’s more frayed than the other, it’s closer to red than orange, and he still fucking loves it. It’s always belonged to her. Oh look, there’s something he can say, fuck how cheesy it sounds. “It’s always been yours.”

Lomadia takes it, turning it over in her hands. She stares at the bed, her eyes traveling up to see the pants leg that’s empty, and is held into place by a safety pin. Arsenal pinpoints the exact moment she makes the connection, her eyes widening, her little canines biting her lower lip.

She bursts into tears again.

That triggers his own tears. At this rate, he’s going to need new eyeballs and tear ducts. The kraggons turn to him, giving him identical looks of ‘please do something’. He knows, throwing an arm around her shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, I’m not dead.” While she’s distracted, he beckons for the tissues. Mouthfuls are helpfully shoved into his palm.

“I know, you’re here, but–” Lomadia takes one when he offers it to her, blowing her nose. She doesn’t seem to mind that it’s got a hole in it from one of his kraggon’s teeth.

“I’mma let you finish,” Arsenal jokes, “but I’d know if I was definitely dead for sure.”

She snorts when she laughs, and promptly pauses, mortified that she’d done so. Arsenal can’t help cracking up. Grinning, she shoves him, forgetting how strong she is. 

“Shit!” Arsenal slides off the bed and onto the floor. Dick and Arden hop out of the way. “Traitors, you’re supposed to catch me,” He grumbles at them. Apologetic licks lap at his face. Lomadia helps him up without breaking a sweat, ignoring his protests. He’s set on the bed. “Uh. Wow. You got stronk–” Arsenal corrects himself, “I meant strong!”

“I can understand memes,” Lomadia reassures. Dick and Arden slip back into their hiding spot.

“Oh good, I don’t have to hold back my mighty memes,” Arsenal quips.

“You don’t have to hold back anything.” Lomadia’s honesty reduces him to stunned silence.

“Then I don’t have to hold back about wanting another hug?” Arsenal really does want another hug.

“You may have another hug.” Lomadia indulges him. He can feel her eyes staring at his missing leg.

“It’s fine, I know you want to ask about it.” Arsenal rubs it just above the stump. The painkillers Lalnable dosed him with are a cut above the ones he used get. He could do anything right now; he chooses to lie back down. Mistaking him as getting tired, Lomadia moves to leave. “Hey, you don’t have to go, I’m just settling in. You can stay.”

She immediately chooses to stay. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah! We could loads to talk about, like how the heck you saved me.” Arsenal grins at her. “I do got all day.” He lets himself get swatted in the shoulder.

\--

Zylus waves at Teep. Teep waves back at him as he knocks on Daltos’ room door. Nothing can kill Teep, as past events proved not once, but thrice. Zylus enters.

He’s changed back into his formal uniform. There hadn’t been much point to staying in the combat one since it’d served its purpose. He still keeps it, just in case he needs it again.

The room housing Daltos is cozy, all the furniture consisting of a hospital bed, a curtain on shitty wheels, some compact tables, a collapsible meal trolley and two plastic chairs. A crate by the bed houses a bunch of sealed glass jars filled with black paste.

Daltos sleeps in the bed, sprawled on his back. This is the most relaxed that Zylus has ever seen him, since the storm passed over in T-Bone Junction. Someone’s pulled the sheets over his chest, though he’s thrown them off so they bunch around his waist. He’s more or less kept to the hospital clothes Lalnable’s clinic patients wear.

Zylus steps around the curtain, taking one of the chairs. It creaks as he settles down. He didn’t want to believe that Nilesy had failed to protect him. He didn’t want to believe that everyone nearly failed, misplacing his faith in his friends. They had other things to focus on, at the time, like not perishing mid-battle. He can’t blame them, and yet, a childish part of him wants to.

That same part would have loved to learn that Daltos was safe and sound. Unfortunately, Daltos had other ideas. His role escalated beyond what anybody ever expected, and he rose above the limitations imposed on him. He fucked up, paid dearly for it, while sacrificing his gang to ensure Sanctuary Hole lived.

Leaning over, Zylus takes his hand to squeeze it. He doesn’t expect Daltos to squeeze back, but he does, lightly. Daltos sleepily stirs. The bandages on one side of his face ripple as he blinks. He’s forced to turn his head to the side to fully see Zylus.

A smile finds its way onto Zylus’ face. “Hi,” He whispers.

“Hi,” Daltos whispers back. He slips his hand out of Zylus to sit up. It takes a determined minute for Daltos to sit up without help. He shakes his head when Zylus extends a helping hand.

“I shouldn't have left you behind,” Zylus admits.

“It’s fine, I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Daltos scratches at his cheek that’s not covered by the bandage.

“But your–” Zylus indicates Daltos’ face. 

“On the bright side, we match now. Look, I’ll show you.” Daltos reaches up with both hands. Zylus stares in horror as the bandages peel off, layer by layer, until all he’s staring at is a black hole where Daltos’ right eye used to be. A single, perfect, vertical red line bisects the eyelid.

Seeing it is different from imagining it. Daltos laughs, at his reaction. Zylus doesn’t realise he’s stood up. “This isn’t funny.”

“You simply don’t see it.” Daltos simply smiles and replace the bandages. Zylus flushes, and storms off. He can feel his eyes on him as he leaves. He didn’t think it’d be that bad, but there’s nothing left of the eye. What did Daltos even do with it, once it’d been removed?

He stays in the hallway, trying to regain control of his breathing. The door clicks shut by his hand. He’s a little relieved that Teep’s gone from their post so they’re not witness to this sorry display. 

It could have been far worse. Zylus could have returned to find a dead, bullet ridden and desecrated corpse. That stray thought elicits a spike of anxiety that makes him want to peek into the room to see if Daltos is still alive, and he’s not having some sort of fever dream.

BebopVox emerges from the waiting room. They perk up upon spotting him, striding over. A healing bruise decorates one cheek. “Zylus! Are you okay?”

“Why are you here?” Zylus dodges the question in favor of staring. He doesn’t need to know where they’ve been, not wanting to elicit any unusual answers. As he said so himself, BebopVox’s their own person now.

BebopVox’s outfit is a print t-shirt featuring an avant garde painting. The painting is of Ridgedog posing handsomely next to an expensive vase. BebopVox doesn’t seem to care about how narcissistic it appears. Black skinny jeans complete their look, as well as trendy sport shoes. It reminds Zylus of douchey corporate fashion trends. BebopVox probably doesn’t care about looks, opting for the most practical items they could probably find in Ridgedog’s wardrobe.

“I had to have a bullet removed!” BebopVox’s cheerfulness is offset by the statement that just left their mouth.

If Zylus hadn’t gotten used to it so fast, he’d be alarmed. Instead, he keeps staring. His eyes have now drifted to where the bullet hole sits in BebopVox’s chest. “Lalnable did it for you?”

“I asked!” BebopVox’s smile becomes a disconcerting grin. It has the subtle, unnatural feel of someone who’s only read about and seen pictures of smiling.

“Did he?” Zylus doesn’t think Lalnable would turn away a patient, even if that patient’s responsible for everyone’s past and current woes. He’s not sure if Lalnable knows that Ridgedog is actually BebopVox.

“Want to see?” BebopVox waggles their eyebrows at him.

Zylus blushes before he can help it. “No, thank you,” He politely declines. BebopVox shrugs (and it’s the most natural gesture that they’ve pulled off yet). “And where are you going?”

“To see Daltos.” BebopVox steps closer to him. “But first, can I hug you?”

“Why?” Zylus blurts the question.

“Seeing Daltos, or hugging you?” BebopVox tilts their head, blinking at him. Their eyes retain the vivid shade of blue from earlier. More seriously, they explain, “Well, Daltos deserves to know that it’s ‘me’ too, and I’ve wanted to hug you, for a long time now.” They’re not lying, patiently waiting to see how he responds.

Trying not to tear up, Zylus extends his arms. BebopVox walks right into them, letting themself get swept up. They clutch him close, arms encircling his back. At the back of his mind, he recalls what they’d said about nothing organic remaining in their body. There’s nothing different about this hug.

“You’re my friend, of course I’d let you hug me,” Zylus whispers. BebopVox’s chin rests on his shoulder. They’re mindful of his own aches, gentle as they hold him. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Zylus.” They lift their head, peering at him with genuine joy. 

Zylus doesn’t quite want to let go; it’s his first hug with BebopVox. He knows that there’ll be plenty more to come, waiting for them to let go. After a few moments, he realises that BebopVox is letting him choose when.

He detaches himself with great reluctance. BebopVox smiles. This time, it reaches their eyes. Zylus already misses the close contact, embarrassed that he’d crave it so much.

“If you want a hug anytime, let me know!” BebopVox is knocking and entering Daltos’ room before Zylus can respond. Zylus wanders off, thinking of other things.

\--

Daltos is falling asleep again when he hears the footsteps of another visitor. The distinctive tread alerts him that it’s someone he hasn’t met before, soft and considerate. They have the manners to close the door so that it doesn’t slam (another one of Lalnable’s pet peeves, judging by the yelling happening in the distance).

He lifts his head. A stranger peers at him from around the surgical curtain. The painkillers dampen his ability to recognise them. Something’s weird about them that he can’t put his finger on. It’s familiar, and it has nothing to do with the corporate colors they’re wearing.

“Daltos?” Their voice is reedy and inquisitive.

“Who’re you?” Daltos doesn’t want to sit up. He’s already made himself comfortable.

“I’m BebopVox.” The simple answer has him squinting at them.

“If Arsenal sent you here to fuck with me, please leave,” He immediately says. He doubts that it’s Arsenal behind this stunt; Arsenal hadn’t interacted with BebopVox much during his time aboard the frigate in the old days. It didn’t stop him from asking BebopVox to perform passive-aggressive tasks on the other Dahl captains though. BebopVox didn’t mind, so long as it didn’t compromise anything or anyone.

“I can tell you the same thing I told Zylus to prove that it’s me?” The person who claims to be BebopVox gets a cunning gleam in their eye.

Daltos swallows. “Alright.” He doesn’t know why he’s agreeing to this. Curiosity, maybe. It’s also one of the wildest claims he’s heard someone make, next to Arsenal replacing half his fucking cash with chocolate coins when he wasn’t looking.

They move around the curtain and chair in the way, sitting so that they’re level with his bed. They lean forward, whispering to him.

“Oh?” Daltos feigns coyness in his tone once they’re done.

“Yep.” BebopVox nods, their cat-like grin satisfied. “Word for word.”

“I’m gonna need more proof,” Daltos says. It doesn’t burst BebopVox’s bubble.

“I’d be happy to give you more.” BebopVox flicks a series of images at him into his HUD.

“Where did you get these?” Daltos swipes them out of his view.

“I’ve had them for a while now.” BebopVox’s grin turns sheepish. “From the day I first met you, Zylus and–”

“He doesn’t go by that name anymore,” Daltos cuts them off. “He’s ‘Arsenal’ now.”

“Does he now?” BebopVox turns their thoughtful gaze to the direction of Arsenal’s room. “Interesting.”

“How did you get that body?” Daltos tucks himself back in, reclining on a stack of pillows that appeared during his sleep. Not just anybody could slip in those pillows under his head. He has a few culprits in mind (namely, Zylus).

“How did you lose your eye?” BebopVox innocently inquires.

“You want a trade.” Daltos chuckles. The painkillers dosing him into wonderland stop the chuckles from wrecking him. “An eye for an eye, and a body for a body.”

“Will you accept?” BebopVox knows he can’t resist a deal like that.

“My other lieutenant cut out my eye.” Daltos waits for a reaction from BebopVox.

BebopVox stares, mouth wide open. “I downloaded myself into this body.”

“You wouldn’t pirate a body,” Daltos whispers after a pregnant pause. He giggles. BebopVox bursts into peals of laughter. The two of them don’t stop for a few minutes, alternating between chuckles and giggles. “It looks like you pirated a sense of humour too.”

“I’ve always had a sense of humour!” BebopVox feigns being offended. “You’re just dense, that’s all!”

“Yeah, I’m pretty dense,” Daltos agrees.

“You’ll have to introduce me to Arsenal. I’d like to see him again, after so long.” Wistfulness seeps into BebopVox’s face.

“I can do that, once we both stop dying in here.” Finally calm again, Daltos sighs. “How’d Zylus react to finding out you now got a body?”

“He’s happy about it,” BebopVox explains. “Are you happy that I have a body now too?”

“Yeah, but I wish it didn’t look like such a prick,” Daltos says. 

“I worked hard for his body!” BebopVox gasps.

“Sure you did.” Daltos laughs, before he ends up yawning.

“Do you want to sleep now? You look tired.”

“Yeah. We can talk more later. If you see Zylus, tell him to get his ass back in here, he hasn’t given me a goodnight kiss yet.”

“I’ll do that!”

“Thanks.” Daltos resigns to staring at the ceiling, counting the minutes until Zylus returns.

\--

It’s a proud day when Rythian performs a complete lap of his room without getting winded or wanting to lie down on his bed after a few minutes. Lalnable pronounces him well enough to leave his room but with assisted supervision. Junior doesn’t count.

Lalnable’s allowed him to keep Junior close by. He didn’t react much to meeting an alien construct for the first time. Junior takes to keeping Rythian company like a thresher to water. There’s not a single moment where Junior’s absent, unless it’s to give Rythian privacy for his medical examinations. Rythian pulls on a shirt to hide his back scars.

Ravs leads Rythian down the hall. Staying true to his word, he’s visited every day. Rythian still feels guilt for causing those scars. Junior follows by bobbing along the ceiling like a stray balloon. One day, he’ll be able to look at Ravs without wanting to rewind time and wishing he hadn’t simply given up. Teep follows at a distance before detouring to the kitchen.

The waiting room is empty. Lalnable arrives from the opposite direction, carrying a clipboard. “I see you’re up to walking.”

“He’s doing just fine, I’d say,” Ravs says, giving Rythian a proud look. Rythian almost missteps, managing to keep on track. He did put on a shirt, mostly to avoid Ravs dropping an innuendo on him.

The clinic’s main patient room is populated by people Rythian’s familiar with, including a few friendly strangers. It’s mealtime; a trolley bearing a multitude of plates rests in the middle of aisle, attended to by Will Strife.

Will Strife’s wearing a gaudy, neon pastel apron with the quote ‘please do not kiss the cook, I’m well armed’. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Even while serving, he’s still wearing his trademark suit. The shield Nilesy once borrowed off him is hanging off his belt.

He carries a plate to each patient, starting with Saberial. Saberial takes up an entire bed by sprawling out. Clad in hospital pajamas like Rythian, she’s spooning mashed potatoes and gravy onto a plate. 

Zoeya methodically squashes an unidentified bit of meat into a pancake using the back of her fork. She shaves a bit of bread off with the edge of her knife, adding it to form a makeshift bun.

Turpster watches all of this in mild chagrin. He declines food, nursing a canteen of water (or so it looks like water). Martyn excavates his chocolate pudding with gusto, his fork dividing it into bite-sized chunks. A Tom (the drawling one) eats the rest of the food that he’s ignoring. The other Tom (whose real name turned out to be ‘Ben’) stands guard, yawning into one hand.

Sliding off a chair, Nilesy passes Ravs, returning a thick, handwritten manual to him. “I’ll finish reading that later,” He whispers. 

Rythian acknowledges him with a polite nod that he returns. Ravs takes his book back, smiling at him. Elsa watches from her perch by Panda’s side.

Panda chews on a diner burger so thick with filling that it looks like it’s about to burst from their hands. Teep builds a castle using a stack of playing cards. Elsa watches them. One paw reaches to examine a stray card. Without looking, Teep slips her a cat treat which she scarfs down. Her paw retreats. A few seconds later, her ears prick as Nilesy steps into the room, joined by Lomadia.

Lalna’s nowhere to be seen, as with Nanosounds. On the other hand, the other Vault Hunters are present, crammed into the rest of the room. Xephos and Honeydew occupy a corner, discussing their company shares. Honeydew looks smaller without the diamond shovel tucked on his back. Xephos looks comical, perched on a tiny stool.

Trottimus sits between two beds holding Ross and Alsmiffy. Alsmiffy’s healing is bolstered by the blue striped surveyor parked on his lap, its beam continuing to work nonstop to restore his mutilated features. His eyes peer through slits in the bandages keeping his skin protected from infection.

Ross’ back is still recovering; he suffered a slipped disc. Lalnable recommended plenty of bed rest and painkillers. Ross entertains himself by sleeping. He’s awake now though, thanks to the food in his proximity. Will leaves him two plates instead of one, handing Trottimus one as well. 

Alsmiffy has a plastic fork and knife taped to his hands. “Fuck!” is his muffled swearing. Trottimus leans over to separate his peas from his gravy and potatoes. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Trottimus mildly says.

“Rythian!” Will Strife spots Rythian awkwardly standing in the doorway with Ravs by his side. “You’re awake!” He dodges the trolley and Parvis, grinning even as he takes in Rythian’s sorry state.

“Am I really?” Rythian questions, pretending to look around like he’s in a dream of some sort.

Will snorts. “I could pinch you, but Teep’d probably have me murdered in my sleep or something.”

> ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ   
> me on my way to murder you

“I’ll be in hiding if you need me.” Will smiles, then retreats beyond throwing knife distance (behind Parvis).

“You enjoying your goggles?” Panda mumbles. They add a card to Teep’s growing castle. Elsa nicks one of Panda’s fries when they’re not looking, chowing on it before they or Nilesy can notice.

> i love these goggles so much you have no fucking idea

> look at the emotional range and depth i can express with a single emote

> (｡◕‿‿◕｡)   
> (¬_¬)

“We get it Teep, you love your goggles.” Saberial runs her bread around her plate before devouring it.

> ಠ╭╮ಠ

“What’s all the hubbub?” Arsenal limps into the room, followed by Daltos and Zylus.

Bandages still cover half of Daltos’ face. That attracts shocked stares from a few people. Daltos hasn’t been seen out of his room since he arrived. Zylus keeps his gaze ahead, away from him. Daltos pretends not to notice, keeping close to Arsenal. Arsenal shakes him off, taking the chair closest to Lomadia. He dumps his crutches on the floor (which earns a stern look of disapproval from Lalnable). He whistles a few high-pitched notes.

Two tiny kraggons trot in, heads turning this way and that before trying to squeeze under Arsenal’s chair. One ends up atop his crutches, trapping the items. The other sticks out like a sore thumb, craggy head sticking out between the chair’s legs, rocky tail thumping against the floor. A faint smell like heated metal (almost spicy) wafts from the kraggons.

Upon seeing and smelling them, Elsa retreats to a safer distance, hiding behind Nilesy. Nilesy pats her, cooing and making catlike sounds. The kraggons ignore her, too interesting in staying close to Arsenal.

Minty grabs Daltos to swing him into the chair next to her. Zylus chooses to stay standing. Daltos gives her a little glare for her gesture of goodwill. Minty smirks, waggling her eyebrows. He turns to face the room, ignoring her.

“Just in case none of you have met him, this here’s Arsenal, and I’m his daddy,” Daltos introduces with a straight face.

Panda chokes on their burger, needing intervention from Teep. They recover. “Daddy?” Teep thumps their back. Panda dodges the last unneeded thump without dropping their food.

“I’m not  _ your _ daddy, I’m his,” Daltos says.

Arsenal deadpans a look at him. “Damn gay.” He waves. “Nice to meet y’all in person at last. These two kraggons here are Dick and Arden.” The kraggons perk up when their names are spoken. When nothing happens, the two droop.

“Remember when we met a lost kraggon?” Strippin mutters to Benji. Benji nods, his eyes misting over.

Zylus makes the stupid mistake of opening his mouth as he stares at Arsenal, recognising him at long last. “Wait,  _ Danny?” _

Daltos gives him an alarmed look as the rest of the room is enveloped in silence at the raised eyebrow Arsenal gives Zylus. Arsenal leans on his chair, regarding Zylus neutrally. After a second, a crooked finger beckons him closer. Zylus automatically looks at Daltos for help.

“You’re on your own, Zylus.” Daltos’ tone has no humour in it. “You’re a big boy now.”

Zylus grimly accepts his fate, stepping over a panting kraggon to reach Arsenal. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know–”

“Hey man, it’s cool, I get it, we haven’t met up in years, so there’s bound to be a few changes here and there.” Arsenal laughs. The air sags. Relieved, Zylus moves to step away when Arsenal seizes the front of Zylus’ jacket. He forces his head down until they’re eye to eye. “But it’s  _ Arsenal _ , and don’t you forget it.”

“Got it,” Zylus quickly says. It’s not a mistake he’s going to repeat twice.

“Just so long as you get it.” Beaming, Arsenal paps Zylus’ face once before letting him go. Zylus almost trips on a kraggon in his haste to retreat behind Daltos.

“Hey, do you mind not beating him up?” Daltos leans on the chair’s armrest, sighing. He has to turn his head all the way to the left to see Arsenal.

“Yeah, yeah, Patches, he’s special to you, I’m not stupid.” Arsenal rolls his eyes. Daltos doesn’t have the energy to glare at him while Minty snickers. Arsenal perks up. “Can I have some food?” Will Strife diligently hands him a plate. Once he takes it, he stares at him. “Wait, I know you!”

Will doesn’t quite freeze, but he does let a scoop of loose gravy splash onto the floor. Arden waddles over, lapping at it. Dick dozes, head resting atop its stony claws. Will tries to shoo Arden, who’s cleaning up the gravy. Arden slinks back to Arsenal, whining with gravy.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Will quickly says, patting himself down for a spare rag.

“You’re the guy who stole a million bucks from Daltos’ frigate, right?” Arsenal casually asks. “Right under my nose, too.”

Silence expands around the two, except for the sounds of the kraggon sneaking back to lick the floor clean and Panda’s loud chewing. Daltos glances between the two, bored and unimpressed. He doesn’t come to Will’s defense.

“You want it back?” Will asks, eyeing both. His hands curl defensively, one boot shifting on the floor.

“Wasn’t my money to begin with, I just want to know what a classy, ballsy and well-dressed guy like you’d spend it on.” Arsenal divides his food up into neat sections with a knife that Minty passes him.

“Dunno.”

“I’d buy sexy underwear.” Minty grins at Arsenal, who pretends to blush. “That, or guns.”

“Definitely guns,” Everyone in the room choruses in agreement. Almost everyone, that is. All the pacifists mutter other answers.

Rythian overhears that Zoeya wants a vacation to one of the greatest wildlife preserves in the universe (Pandora not counting). Out of the corner of his eye, Saberial takes notes on a napkin, hiding it from her view a few seconds later. 

He realises that he can’t even answer the question. Teep remains silent on the issue, though they listen in on the conversation, merely observing. They do silently chuckle at Panda’s response of ‘a better, harder, faster, stronger eye’.

Nilesy pops back in briefly to add, “I’d buy a new kilt for Ravs!” Laughing, Ravs slaps him on the back so hard that Nilesy slides across the floor in his slippers and leaves a black mark.

“Peace and quiet,” Lalnable retorts.

“I’d buy a plot of land big enough so that these two troublemakers will never get tired of exploring.” Arsenal glances down with such obvious affection at his two kraggons. Arden’s nudging the trolley’s wheels, curious after licking the gravy off the floor. Dick’s rolled onto their back, one leg twitching sporadically.

“Know what, I’d buy an indestructible suit,” Will answers.

“I thought you were already wearing one?” Parvis points with his crutch at Will.

“This one’s not quite bulletproof,” Will laments, picking at a loose thread on his arm. His suit sports an assortment of stitches. “Yet.” A gleam creeps into his eyes.

“Well, we all know what to buy Will for his birthday,” Lalnable comments.

“I was gonna get him a new tie, but what about a hand-sewn suit?” Parvis perks up.

“No, thank you,” Will politely declines. “You sure you don’t want the money back? I still have a quarter of it sitting in my inventory…” The conversation continues.

“Aren’t you going to do your thing?” Ravs reminds Rythian. The two of them have chosen to sit by the far wall next to Teep and Panda. Panda’s done eating, conversing with Zoeya and Saberial about their future plans.

Rythian’s eyes take in the bandages wound around Zoeya’s arm. He’d thought she had it in a cast when he’d walked in. Up close, he can see that it’s no longer present. Zoeya keeps it close to her chest, almost protectively. She keeps shooting glances between him and Arsenal, like she can’t decide who to talk to first. Teep brought him the sketchbook that he’d entrusted to her.

She settles on Arsenal when she catches Rythian’s eye; maybe she knows he’s not up to social interaction yet.

“I guess I should. If I keep putting it off any longer, who knows what’ll happen?” Rythian stands. He’s a little proud of how he does it without wanting help from Ravs. Ravs hovers by him, ready for anything. “Attention?”

“Hey! Rythian wants to say something!” Parvis shouts. “Everybody shut up!”

“No shouting in my clinic!” Lalnable hisses at him.

Over ten sets of eyes land on Rythian. Rythian clears his throat. He knows he looks like he’s about to keel over any second, the dark circles under his eyes making him look like he’s ten years older, his skinny frame bonier without all his usual layers and trappings to hide it. He mentally shakes himself, swallowing.

“I’d like you all to meet someone.” Rythian gestures with a bare hand. “But you have to promise not to shoot.” He doesn’t miss at the pale shape hiding near the doorframe that’s been peeking in on occasion to check up on him. “They’re important to me, so please, don’t do anything drastic.” Once they all understand that (well, aside from Teep, Ravs, Zylus and Minty), Rythian nods.

Taking the cue, Junior floats into the room. Junior turns from side to side to witness a horde of people, one diamond cat and two kraggons stare.

Half the Vault Hunters draw weapons; the other half stare, not moving, locked in place by shock. Junior reacts by zooming over, ducking behind Rythian. All the weapons track Junior to land on Rythian. Rythian’s hand meets an empty hip; he’s unarmed. It looks like Lalnable’s ironclad policy about having no weapons in the clinic’s been a waived to protect a few of his patients.

“No weapons in the clinic!” Lalnable shouts. “Or I lock all your modules in my personal safe until you’re ready to leave!” That threat works on a quarter of the room. The other quarter seems less convinced by his threat to disarm.

“That depends, you got enough room for all our modules?” Alsmiffy’s drawn a crude slingshot, crafted out of office supplies Trottimus had snuck him.

“Don’t make me test that!” Lalnable’s stepping between Rythian and the others, using himself as a shield. That’s smart of him; nobody wants to lose their one and only proper doctor.

“Why’d you bring a Guardian in here?” Trottimus glares at Rythian. A surveyor (the green one) causes the air to flicker underneath its anti-gravity engine. Trottimus has a hand on it to stop it from floating off in an attack.

“Yeah!” Ross echoes. He points a clawed finger at Junior. “Nice scarf though.”

Rythian can feel Junior press against his back while being mindful of his scars. Junior didn’t really feel fear or any emotion, but they could emulate it well enough. Right now, Junior’s relying on him for protection and comfort. He almost feels like a parent. Almost.

“You all promised not to shoot!” Parvis recovers from his surprise. “Don’t shoot the cute alien!”

“I will if I have to!” Panda snaps. “Even the little ones are dangerous!”

“Everybody calm down!” Minty raises her voice, cracking it like a whip. It earns instant silence. People remember that she’s here on Pandora instead of Elpis. “This Guardian’s friendly. Not gonna hurt you.”

“Can confirm,” Ravs adds. “Little fella doesn’t bite, he hasn’t got any teeth to speak of.”

> or fart bc no guts

“That’s disgusting, Teep,” Saberial says, giving them a matching look. Teep shrugs.

> at least it’s not a skag

“Skags are cool, so fuck your opinion,” Minty says to Teep.

“How do you know that?” Will inquires.

“Well, I’m the godparent,” Minty says.

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“You don’t need sense to adopt a friendly alien.”

“Hey, does this mean Rythian had an alien baby?” Arsenal questions. The kraggons watch the show, heads tilting to follow who’s speaking.

“I did  _ not _ have an alien baby,” Rythian retorts. “I didn’t adopt Junior either, Junior adopted  _ me.” _ Junior happily bobs the equivalent of a nod once they peek over Rythian’s shoulder.

“So, no alien fuckery involved?” Alsmiffy sounds disappointed at losing the chance to make fun of Rythian’s taste in beings.

“So, spill. How’d you meet Junior?” Zoeya has look in her eyes that’s reminiscent of finding a particularly interesting specimen. Saberial is one of the few people who hasn’t drawn a gun, but she did move in front of Zoeya as far as her bed would allow.

“Junior’s short for ‘Rythian Junior’, and Junior won’t respond to anything else.” Rythian gives Teep a tired, long-suffering look. Teep reclines on their chair, not giving a single fuck. “Anybody interested in hearing the story?”

Hands shoot into the air, especially Zoeya’s (who waves it around for extra emphasis).

\--

Corvax left Turpster a parting gift of a wooden stage, complete with special attachments for hanging people, judging table and an old favourite, the stock. The stage is positioned by the sheriff’s office, partitioned by a wooden fence.

The day is overcast. There’s a feeling hanging in the air, different to when the town was about to be attacked, of a blade hanging over the town’s neck. This time, it’s anticipatory and suspenseful.

At high noon, Sips swaggers onstage. Behind him, Turpster marches a handcuffed Sjin onto the planks. Sips produces a cigar but makes no move to light it, surveying the crowd that’s drawing around the stage. Next to him, Sjin’s eyes dart left and right. He keeps looking to Sips, his expression pleading. Sips ignores him, consulting one of his two wristwatches for the time.

Turpster stands by Sjin, his cowboy hat casting a shadow over his eyes. His sheriff’s badge is smartly pinned to his coat’s front pocket.

Sips takes out a newspaper. He pages through it, legs crossed on his deck chair. Sjin squirms. When the sun reaches its peak, Turpster sits down next to Sips. 

To a cheer that makes a tile fall off the top of the sheriff’s office building, BruteAlmighty and IFirez step onto the stage, microphones clipped to their shirts.

“This is FyreUK, currently live from Sanctuary Hole to personally commentate on the lottery!” BruteAlmighty throws out candy to the crowd. A bandit grabs a fistful, sharing it amongst their friends.

“Lottery?” Sjin frowns.

“Yeah, a lottery, but not one you’d like,” Sips informs him. He still doesn’t look at him. This annoys Sjin, who huffs. He can’t run anywhere, forced to wait as IFirez wheels a small box until it’s parallel to the wooden fence.

“Names! Names in here!” BruteAlmighty begins to explain. “Names will be drawn, and it’ll decide the order of who gets to punish Sjin! Until all names have been exhausted, Sjin’s not allowed to go anywhere.”

“Going live in five!” IFirez adjusts the screens broadcasting the lottery so that the crowd can see what’s happening onstage.

At this, Turpster coaxes Sjin so that Sjin’s locked into the stocks. Sjin isn’t pleased, yanking half-heartedly at the lock keeping him in place. He refuses to acknowledge the crowd, haughtily staring at the sky.

“Punishments are to be reasonable, nothing deadly or life-threatening, according to a few rules that Sips came up with, but otherwise, it’s all fair game.” IFirez escorts the box until it meets the other end of the wooden fence. The box is carried up to BruteAlmighty and shaken. Sticking a hand in, BruteAlmighty extracts the first name. People hold their breath. “Nilesy!”

Nilesy shuffles forward, nervousness clouding his expression. Somewhere in the background, Elsa meows. Nilesy makes it up to where FyreUK are. He stands in front of Sjin. Sjin acknowledges him with a sneer.

“Who’re you?”

“I’m Nilesy, former water salesman and resident of Oasis.” His hand swats at Sjin’s face in an ineffective slap.

Sjin snorts at the failed slap. “Still don’t know you.”

“I’m here to fuck you up since you tried to dry out my town, tried to kill my friends,  _ and _ forgot about your cat!” Nilesy punches Sjin. Sjin’s head bangs against the stock keeping him pinned; he grunts, staring hard at Nilesy. Nilesy glances at his own hand like it’s something he’s never seen before. “I did it! I punched him!” He punches the air too.

“Good on you!” Ravs cheers. “Remember to tuck your thumb in!”

“How rude!” Sjin spits.

“I’m not done yet. This one’s from Lomadia.” Nilesy spawns a bucket. Water sloshes within it. A hint of bright blue at the bottom indicates that it’s a special bucket. “This is pool water, and it’s all for you.” He upends said bucket on Sjin’s head, downing him in water. Sjin splutters continuously throughout the dumping. Water splatters on the wood, seeping through the planks.

Coughing, Sjin glares at Nilesy, his wet, dank hair flopping over his face. It ruins the air of intimidation he’s going for. Nilesy stows the bucket in his inventory and steps down from the stage.

Busy blowing hair out of his eyes, Sjin misses the next announcement. Ravs and Teep stand on either side of him. Teep’s arm is out of the sling. Ravs plants both hands on his hips.

“We meet again,” Ravs remarks, giving Teep a glance.

“Indeed,” Teep signs with both hands.

The two move, grabbing both his legs. Ravs and Teep simultaneously press down. Sjin whimpers at the pressure assaulting his legs. “Stop, you’ll break my legs!”

“That’s the point!” Ravs is the cheeriest he’s ever been since Rythian woke up. Teep gets bored of pressing down, slamming down with a precise punch. With a satisfying crunch, 

“Boom, I broke mine faster than you.” Teep claps, then points at Ravs. “Stalemate broken!”

“Looks like I have some catching up to do!” Ravs breaks Sjin’s other leg. Sjin screams when both his legs bend in the opposite direction to their biological inclination. His head drops as he dry heaves, his face drained of colour. Ravs pats Sjin’s leg, smiling at him. He steps down with Teep. 

Trottimus pops his ticket back in the little box as he passes FyreUK. Alsmiffy and Ross amble after him like skag pups following their parents around. Alsmiffy has his gas mask pulled over his face, his suit pulled over all his bandages. Ross is dressed in salmon pink chinos and an eye-popping blue Hawaiian shirt with dollar signs sewn into it.

“Nice to run into you again.” Trottimus salutes Sips.

“Sup,” Sips says without looking up.

“Nice to see you without those stupid glasses on,” Alsmiffy retorts. “Hey, were you in cahoots with this fucker the entire time?” He points to Sjin.

“He’s my co-CEO,” Sips says, shrugging. “He can do whatever he wants, I’m not his keeper.” That tells Alsmiffy nothing, which infuriates him.

“You told him to go find a Vault and try to fuck all of us over!” Alsmiffy’s not wearing his firespawning gloves. His burn scarred hands curl against his sides. One’s raised to point at Sips.

“You can think that if you want,” Sips responds lightly.

“Was the heist real?” Ross quietly asks.

“That’s right, SipsCo. owns Opportunity.” Trottimus sniffs. “100% share and everything. We saw all of Sjin’s files.”

Sips looks up. He taps his cigar on the table. “That’ll fucking teach people not to store all their dough in one place.”

“Sips, why would you want to rob your own bank?” Trottimus, Alsmiffy and Ross stare at Sips.

“For fun.” Sips shrugs. “I’m so rich that I’m bored of rich people hobbies, like shooting clones of antique paintings, betting on cross-planet races, and snorting glamdust. You wouldn’t get it.”

“No, we won’t, and never will.” Trottimus turns away from Sips. 

Alsmiffy gives Sips a long look before following. “Ross? Come, there’s no point in talking to this blowhard.” 

Ross hasn’t moved. He’s still staring at Sips. Ross’ hands move to tear the dollar bill shirt of his own chest, but Sips voice stops him. “You can keep the shirt, you filthy animal,” Sips drawls. “I burn secondhand goods in my fireplace for a hobby, so don’t even bother.”

Ross refrains, moving to join his two comrades by Sjin. Sjin’s still kneeling, thanks to the stock locking his hands down. His eyes hardly widen when he spots Trottimus, Alsmiffy and Ross.

Alsmiffy kneels down with some difficulty. “Well, well, well, what have we got here?” His hand finds Sjin’s chin, turning it up to face him. “It’s a loser!”

“Get your filthy hands off me!” Sjin demands. “Sips!” Sips ignores him, flipping another page of the magazine on suits he’s changed to. The holographic pages flicker as Sips flicks through them. He wets one corner with his thumb to turn the page.

“He ain’t doing shit to help you,” Ross growls. His growl has less rumble and power than it usually does.

“Know what we got planned for you?” Trottimus sticks his hands into one lab coat pocket, drawing out a fist. He catches whatever he drops, brandishing the objects between his fingers. Sjin refuses to speak. “Found these on the ECHOnet last night.”

“They’re punishment dice, but we gave them our own little twist,” Alsmiffy explains.

Trottimus flicks the three dice. The dice tumble in the air, spinning over and over until their edges hit the wooden floor. FyreUK twiddles the cameras attached to the workerbot to zoom in. One dice runs into Ross’ boot. It lands on ‘freeform’. The second dice comes up with ‘face’. The last dice has handwriting on each of the faces. It settles on ‘groom’.

“The fuck kind of dice are these?” Ross squints at the dice. “Trott, did you pull out the wrong dice?”

“No, these are the dice I modified yesterday,” Trottimus stiffly informs him. “Sherlock has my other dice– by the way, shout out to Sherlock!” A hand sticks up out of the crowd, waving a few times before dropping.

“So, what can we do with a freeform?” Alsmiffy paps Sjin’s face, leering at him. 

Sjin wrinkles his nose in distaste. “You could go away!”

“We came here to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.” Alsmiffy snaps his fingers in delight. “I got it!” His words smirk. “We  _ shave _ the bastard with the beard trimmer Ross never uses.”

“Hey, don’t tell everyone that!” Ross hisses.

_ “Manscaping _ doesn’t count,” Trottimus adds.

“Ew!” Sjin futily struggles against the stocks. “At least change the razor!”

“Yeah, of fucking course we will, we’re not animals! We wouldn’t want you to catch whatever Ross has,” Trottimus sarcastically says. He flicks the razor off that Ross hands him, slotting a new one into place. It locks with a satisfying click.

Trottimus examines the settings on the side. He programs it, handing it over to Alsmiffy. Ross grabs Sjin’s head on either side, fingers digging into Sjin’s skin and making him shift about.

“Don’t move, or I accidentally shave your nose off!” Alsmiffy sings, turning the razor on with a flick of the switch. The razor hums to life, each of the hundred microblades whirring as one. He brings the razor to Sjin’s mustache and beard first.

“No! Not the beard!” Sjin yelps. “Ow! You nicked me!”

“Maybe shut the fuck up and I won’t nick you!” Alsmiffy passes the razor over Sjin’s face several times. Hair falls, sticking to Sjin’s suit, legs and the wooden planks. Cackling, Alsmiffy switches it off, handing it to Trottimus. “Your turn.”

“You didn’t leave much for me!” Trottimus accuses. He crouches by Sjin, toying with the razor by switching it on and off as he contemplates Sjin’s naked face.

“Are you quite done?” Sjin impatiently asks.

“No, I want to play hairdresser!” Trottimus swipes the razor across Sjin’s head. A line of hair drops. Sjin screams.

“No!”

“Yes!” Ross, Trottimus and Alsmiffy chorus as Trottimus makes quick work of Sjin’s head until Sjin is completely bald. Tearing up, Sjin properly glares at the three. 

Ross lets of him, chuckling. “Cheer up, at least you don’t have to worry about how bad your hair looks in the morning.” He extends a claw, grinning. “They wanted to use these instead, but I didn’t want to dig hair out of my nails for days.”

“Thanks for the…opportunity!” Laughing fiendishly, the three shove and push each other off the stage to find their seats, wanting to enjoy the rest of the show.

“Oh shit, it’s not looking good for Sjin!” BruteAlmighty slaps down a piece of paper. “Minty’s up next!”

The crowd gasps. Arsenal whistles, his two kraggons barking. Minty separates from the crowd, ascending.

“I don’t have the jurisdiction to arrest you according to some shitty Hyperion say-so, so I don’t really see the point of keeping this.” Minty flicks her sheriff’s badge down. Martyn catches it in one hand, dropping it into his inventory. He doesn’t seem too surprised. A dramatic gasp ripples through the audience.

“Minty, are you mad?” Turpster’s on his feet, glaring at her. “You can’t just ditch your badge like that!”

“I just did.” Minty raises an eyebrow. “So I’m officially a civilian, as of this second.”

“She’s right. Once you hand in your badge, it takes a while to get it back again.” Martyn leans against the fence. “Just don’t be too rowdy, Minty. I don’t want to have to arrest you.”

“I’ll be nice,” Minty promptly says. She smiles, spawning an item in her hands. It’s a white cone. She fixes it to Sjin’s neck. “There we go, your very own cone of shame! I could have done far worse like punch your teeth out with my metal arm, but Hollie talked me out of it. So thank her.”

“Thank you, Hollie,” Sjin says through grit teeth.

“You’re welcome!” Hollie shouts back.

FyreUK pauses the happenings to play a few advertisements. In the interim, Sips gets up to let Sjin drink from a straw wedged inside of a canteen. Sjin begs him again for help; Sips shakes his head, taking his original seat and perusing reports this time. Sjin can’t see him from where he is.

Will Strife takes the stage after the break. He brandishes a pair of scissors, letting them click in his hand. “Sjin.”

“Strife,” Sjin bites out. “I should have figured you’re as much of a bandit as everyone else is.”

“I’m not here to sit and discuss philosophy with you, so you can cut out that talk,” Will says. “Let’s make this quick.”

“Oh, joy.” Sjin holds his breath when Will reaches for him. Will doesn’t grab any part of him. He grabs Sjin’s tie, unknotting it with one hand. He yanks it from Sjin’s neck so that the full length of it hangs in his hand, rippling in the air.

“You got expensive taste.” Will examines the tie. “Nice, Maliwan brand, sustainable silk, handmade, limited edition!”

“It was a birthday gift.” Sjin’s eyes flick in Sips’ direction. “One of a kind.”

“If I wasn't so squicked at wearing something that belonged to you, I’d keep the tie.” Will sighs. “Anyway, let’s do this.” He lifts the scissors up.

“Not the tie!” Sjin shrieks at him. The scissors cleave the fabric in half. Will destroys the tie with efficient snips. He keeps the pieces, tucking them into Sjin’s front pocket.

“There, there, if you get bored, you can always put them back together and it’ll almost be as good as new!” Will smiles. He descends from the stage, high-fiving Nanosounds, Xephos and Honeydew as he passes them.

“Xephos and Honeydew have decided to share their punishment!” IFirez looks up. “You two coming up?” 

Xephos waves at the camera focusing on them. “I’m good here. Honeydew’s coming up though.” The camera turns to film Honeydew arriving by Sjin.

“I just wanted to say  _ fuck you _ for tracking us to Pandora and trying to sic a bounty hunter on us,” Honeydew tells him.

“I don’t do short people,” Sjin retorts. “You’re way out of my league!”

Honeydew spawns the diamond shovel, holding it above his head in two hands like he would a sword. Turpster leaps to his feet. “Oi! No bludgeoning!”

“Don’t worry sheriff, I just want to refund this.” Honeydew dumps the shovel at Sjin’s feet. “Now this thing’s  _ your _ problem. Good luck paying off fifty million bucks,  _ with _ interest.” He waddles offstage.

Sips collects the shovel, staring thoughtfully at it before leaning it against the chair next to him.

“Man, you should have punched him too,” Will observes.

“Oh! Good idea, I haven’t used Xephos’ one yet!” Honeydew clambers back up to punch Sjin in the face before returning. Xephos high fives him.

“Why didn’t you shock him?” Nanosounds points at Xephos’ shock weaponry.

“Well, we’re not aiming to kill him, are we?” Xephos says to Nanosounds. “He’s still dripping from Nilesy’s pool.”

“Good point.” Nanosounds leans back to enjoy the rest of the show. Rythian’s been a no-show, as with Lalna. She’s not sure where the two are. Ravs is sitting too far away for her to ask, though she’s sure that people would be happy to relay messages back and forth if she asked.

Sjin’s eye is bruising to the satisfaction of those he crossed. He’s splattered by Nanosounds dumping a barrel of slag on him, the reek of fumes and industrial castoffs spilling all over his face, suit and body. It stains the stocks a darker shade of brown, causing the wood to look like it’s congealing like blood.

“Don’t worry, this has been refined for biowaste by Flux Inc., so you don’t have to worry about dying of eridium poisoning!” Nanosounds almost hisses. She flings handfuls of the slag into Sjin’s face. “That’s for my Mother, by the way. She’s alive and recovering in hospital.” She sticks her tongue out of at him before vaulting off the stage to rejoin Will.

Strippin and Benji lob skag guts at Sjin from offstage. Sips does him a small mercy in wiping the viscera and blood from Sjin’s face with his handkerchief. Sjin hangs onto the smell of processed dirt. He’ll need it to endure the rest of this bullshit.

Arsenal’s helped onstage by all three of Trottimus’ surveyors. Minty hangs onto Dick and Arden’s leashes so the two don’t follow Arsenal and fall off the stage in their excitement. BruteAlmighty hands Arsenal his crutches. He hops over to where Sjin is.

“What can a cripple do to me?” Sjin watches Arsenal with wariness. His own reports warned of Arsenal in spite of him not leaving the frigate much.

“You’d be surprised.” Arsenal spawns a small stool that he uses to sit on. He rests his crutches by his feet. “Hope y’all are ready for an art show, ‘cause we’re gonna be here a while!” He’s addressing the audience.

“You’re going to paint on me?” Sjin’s incredulousness isn’t lost on Arsenal.

“Yep.” Arsenal spawns his box of paints. It has chew marks on almost all the sides. Arsenal pulls on latex gloves, snapping them in place. He pulls out a muzzle.

Sjin stares at it. “You can’t be serious!”

“I don’t trust you not to bite me, so.” Arsenal affixes it to Sjin’s head, pulling the sides tight so that Sjin’s mouth is wide open, nearly his teeth bared.

“Where’d he even get that?” Ravs whispers to Minty. 

“Do you even have to ask?” Minty whispers back, waggling her eyebrows. Ravs’ mouth forms a little ‘o’ in realisation.

Arsenal pulls out a tiny paintbrush and a canister of paint no bigger than a container of lip balm. He snaps the protective plastic keeping the lid sealed, discarding it. He dips the paintbrush in it. It comes away in a burnished metal hue the colour of deep copper. Drool drips past the corner of Sjin’s mouth, landing in the cone of shame. It finds its way down against his neck, slipping against the collar of his suit and shirt.

The bristles brush against one of Sjin’s front teeth. Arsenal’s meticulous strokes layers onto one particular tooth. By the time Arsenal’s done, Sjin risks opening his eyes. To his horror, the screens show that he now has a gold tooth, exactly like Honeydew’s one. The crowd’s hooting with laughter.

Arsenal despawns the paintbrush and box of paints. He picks up his crutches, releasing Sjin from the muzzle. Sjin gasps, his jaw aching. “It’s tattoo paint for teeth. It’s not gonna come off for a longass time.” Arsenal leaves the canister on Sips’ desk. “Hey, that cost me quite a bit.”

“How much you want back?” Sips asks.

“It cost me about five thousand,” Arsenal tells him. “Here’s the receipt, since I know you suits love paperwork.” He slaps down a piece of paper next to the canister. Sips exchanges the money with him.

Arsenal’s helped offstage by Trottimus’ surveyors, which leave him next to Minty. There’s nothing Sjin can do about the distressing cosmetic addition that Arsenal inflicted on him, except for shutting his mouth. He doesn’t keep it shut for long.

A ghost stands before him, sporting an innocent grin that Sjin’s all too familiar with.  _ “Ridgedog?” _ He nearly screams. It’s a trick. It has to be. Ridgedog can’t be walking around alive, not after– Sips spares a cursory glance, decides that it’s not worth his attention and goes back to reading about Mercenary Day trees.

“Hi!” Ridgedog’s wearing smart casual clothes that look like they’ve been thrown together from a wealthy person’s discard pile. It makes them look less stiff than when Sjin had last seen them, and out of place.

“I’m not asking you to help me get out of here.” Sjin scowls as best as he can. On a strange whim, Trottimus left him his eyebrows at least.

“I wasn’t going to offer you a way out.” With a little start, Sjin notices that Ridgedog’s eyes aren’t a solid gold anymore. They’ve adopted the default blue that most cybernetic eyes are set to. That goes against the narcissist person that Sjin met. Did death change them?

“Oh, you’re here for the revenge lottery.” Sjin isn’t surprised in the slightest.

“I guess?” Ridgedog shrugs. It’s a little unnatural to see it happen, like there’s a missing frame from a hand drawn animation. “You shot me and trapped me in that hibernation cell for quite some time, so I might as well participate.”

“Do your worst,” Sjin snaps.

Ridgedog grins. It’s the kind of grin to spread from one side to the other, uncanny and devious, ear to ear. Sjin gets why people didn’t like dealing with Ridgedog, back on Helios. Frankly, people Sjin talked with (in place of Ridgedog) had been glad that Sjin’s temporarily taking over while Ridgedog went on ‘vacation’ to Pandora.

They bring out a small, plastic container. Sjin adjusts his posture as best as he can while trapped in the stocks to see what’s in it. It’s food. That seems unusually normal, compared to everything else Sjin’s suffered through.

Ridgedog pops the lid off with their thumbs, extracting a plastic wrapped spoon from their pocket. They pull it out, jabbing it into the container. It’s lasagna, frost still sticking to the lid and the sides, condensate sliding off their fingers. 

“I brought you this. I thought you might get hungry being out here.” Ridgedog gets a spoonful of the lasagna, holding it up to Sjin’s mouth.

Sjin has no way to refuse it. It might not even be that bad, accepting the first mouthful– oh, it’s  _ disgusting _ . The pasta is still semi-frozen, the sauce still in the middle of thawing, the chunks of cheese slimy and cloying, bits of meat and vegetables like indigestible pebbles. He’s forced to swallow it, unable to spit it out for fear of how Ridgedog will retaliate.

“Eat up! I’m not going until I think you’ve eaten enough to not die!” Ridgedog is so fucking cheerful, holding up another spoonful. Their eyes claim innocence in spite of the horrible, horrible act they’re doing to him.

People are laughing, wondering why Ridgedog’s gone for something that’s so off the wall from everyone else. Sjin sits there, enduring mouthful after mouthful of frozen lasagna. Ridgedog rises once there’s nothing left in the container. They flip the container so that the other side’s facing Sjin.

“Revenge is a dish best served cold, don’t you think?” Ridgedog says out loud. The container is labeled ‘REVENGE’ in black marker. They stride off, lobbing the container and spoon into a provided bin.

Sjin wants to throw up. If he does, he’ll add to the mess on him and below him. He’s just glad he hasn’t pissed himself yet. It’s been three hours, with no signs of this ending yet.

Panda takes to the stage when their name’s called. Sjin watches Panda fistbump Teep, jogging up the steps. “I see you found Teep just fine.”

“Yeah, without your help,” Panda says. “Man, after watching Ridgedog feed you that stuff, I’m gonna look like a copycat.” That’s a stupid thing to be worried about, from Sjin’s perspective.

“Then don’t do it,” Sjin points out. “I’ve already been through enough.”

“That’s not what people down there think.” Panda jerks their head at the crowd, which is the same size as it was three hours ago. They pull a bottle out of their jacket, fiddling with the lid. It holds red liquid, as red as the space rubies Sjin’s seen on sales in exclusive jewelry shops.

“What’s that?” Sjin keeps his eyes on the bottle. It’s sinister, labelless and capped so securely that Panda resorts to knifing the cap off. The cap pops off with a comedic sound. Panda stows the lid in one pocket.

“Drink this, and that’s it from me.” Panda’s smiling.

Again, Sjin can’t refuse, even if he wants to. The neck of the bottle’s pressing against his lips. Panda tips it back, letting it trickle into Sjin’s mouth, bit by bit. It flows like sauce, thin and thick at the same time, viscous and not. Panda judges roughly a teaspoonful before taking the bottle away. Sauce sticks to Sjin’s mouth.

“That’s revolting!” Sjin coughs. A few drops ends up on his suit.

“I went all the way to Phusis for it, and back.” Panda shakes the bottle like it’s an unopened bottle of bubbly. The sauce  _ bubbles _ before settling. 

Sjin barely has time to wonder what the fuck he just drank before his tongue rebels and takes on a life of its own. He’s tasted gourmet dishes crafted by master chefs that insisted on using only the most refined spices, during business trips. Those spices don’t compare to the inferno blazing its way across Sjin’s tastebuds, raking each and every one of them over with tiny, superheated pitchforks. It’s like someone’s prying them loose one by one with vicious glee, leaving coals behind in their place.

It doesn’t stop at his tongue. It courses down his throat, to his stomach and outwards, like a shockwave. It’s like he’s become a part of the fire starting in him, at one with it. Every molecule of water in Sjin’s body is trying to escape through his pores.

The fire doesn’t spare his lungs, holding them hostage. Sjin wheezes. His suit’s too constricting, suffocating and trapping the heat making his skin a volcano with lava brewing beneath its surface.

Sjin can’t scream. Screaming doesn’t do the pain justice. Panda’s gone when the heat’s died down to a tolerable smoulder. Panting, Sjin sees his next visitor (torturer would probably be more appropriate): Daltos.

Sjin didn’t think of what to do if he’d run into Daltos again; that thought never crossed his mind. Well, it’s too late to think of other possibilities. Daltos gets down on his knees. With the way the stock is set up, his face is higher than Sjin’s own.

His face is utterly neutral. The one good eye staring at him gleams with anticipation. He still holds himself with pride. Pride, and pain. The pain’s less obvious, but they’ve known each other for months now, that Sjin can confidently pick out the tells.

“Daltos, help me! You remember our deal?” Sjin pleads, discarding his pride.

“What deal?” Daltos radiates coldness with how he stands, he talks and walks. “The deal was off the second you manipulated my lieutenant into backstabbing me.”

“They chose to backstab you! I just laid out how much they’d benefit if you were gone!” Sjin’s explanation isn’t doing much to sate Daltos’ rage.

“If you hadn’t talked to Arado, they’d still be alive, along with a bunch of other assholes who didn’t need to die.” He grips pliers in one gloved hand. The metal handles are cracking under the force of his grip. Daltos takes a deep breath. “Except for Bachem. He fucking deserved it.”

_ “I _ don’t deserve this!” Sjin points out.

“You killed half of my gang with your stunt.” Daltos finds one of Sjin’s hands. He opens the pliers, the edges gripping the fingernail on Sjin’s pinky. Sjin tries to close his hand. The plier’s grip is too strong. Daltos pulls. The entire nail is ripped free, the shredded skin exploding in a cascade of pain that rips up Sjin’s hand.

For the umpteenth time that day, Sjin screams. Daltos doesn’t give him any time to draw breath, moving onto the next fingernail. He advances until only a few nails are left on only one of Sjin’s hands; Daltos attaches the pliers, about to pull them out as he lifts his hand.

“Daltos, that’s enough.” Zylus is at the stage’s steps, standing across from them. He regards Sjin with pity in his eyes. Daltos doesn’t look like he’s about to listen until he throws the pliers down at Sjin’s feet. They clatter, throwing blood everywhere.

“I ran out of dead lieutenants anyway,” Daltos says. He rises to join Zylus. 

That’s the first and last time Sjin meets Zylus. The two disappear into the crowd; Daltos doesn’t stop until he’s well out of sight, Zylus behind him.

Sjin shuts his eyes, trying to numb down the pain with willpower. “Hey!” A voice rudely interrupts his brief break from hell. “Wake up, we’re not done yet.”

Opening his eyes reveals a scruffy bandit with a red bandana leaning on crutches, and an equally scruffy bandit with brown hair, also dressed in red. Sjin doesn’t acknowledge them.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” The brown haired one turns to the other. “I almost feel bad for this.”

“Shut up Sparkles, and get on with it.” The other bandit scowls.

“You’re the boss, Parvis.” Sparkles leans down to pick up the pliers that Daltos dropped, flipping them over. “Daltos didn’t leave us enough fingernails.”

“Then break his fingers,” Parvis explains like it’s obvious. “I’d do it myself, but I can’t really stoop to your fucking level.” For the first time, he’s addressing Sjin. “This is for all  _ my _ bandits who died,” He says as Sparkles rips out the last of the fingernails and moves onto snapping Sjin's fingers like they’re glowsticks.

“You’re all savages,” Sjin whispers under his breath as Sparkles wipes down the pliers, handing them back to Arsenal.

Things can’t get any worse. “Hello Sjin,” Sherlock’s voice is suppressed with shock. “I just came to drop this off.” Sjin can’t really bear to look at him, breathing through his nose as much as he can to avoid drooling and throwing up. A weight settles around Sjin’s neck, landing against his chest.

Sjin himself can’t see what it is that Sherlock left. The screens on the stage are his eyes. Sherlock left a cardboard sign with everything that Sjin did as a boss. Humiliating, but Sherlock’s better than these assholes who could only use physical punishment to express their resentment.

Zoeya makes her way to Sjin with hesitation rolling off her in waves. Saberial stays at the steps, leaning on them. Sjin doesn’t know who this person is, or what he’s done to her but she’s clearly bent on reaching him. He has no words, or the energy to form them.

Her name being drawn is a surprise to the crowd, whispers breaking out and spreading. Zoeya places a towel at her feet. One of her arms is missing; Sjin doesn’t bother to think about how that happened. He’s just focused on wanting this to be over with, counting down the seconds until he’s freed from the stocks and Sips can get him out of here.

The squeaking of a marker gets his attention. Zoeya’s holding one like she would a pencil. The black tip is poised above his face. Sjin grits his teeth when it touches his cheek, feeling it move across his face. When Zoeya’s done, she draws back, nodding.

“That’s for Rythian,” She whispers. 

Sjin succumbs to unconsciousness as FyreUK wraps up the event. Elsa’s crept onto the stage to meet Sips. Sips picks her up. He can see Nilesy trading words with him before the black pulls him in.

\--

Rythian refuses to watch the spectacle of Sjin’s lottery punishment. There’s a few people he can list off the top of his head that are creative enough to come up with the idea in the first place, and even more who’re happy to participate. He would have loved to, but seeing Sjin’s not really on his list of things to do.

Resting on the roof of Ravs’ bar affords him a fantastic view of what’s happening though while maintaining enough distance that people think he doesn’t care to attend.

Honeydew arrives via the attic hatch. His beard rustles in the wind. He’s not scared of heights, edging along the rooftop without fear in his steps. What Rythian likes about him is that he doesn’t mince words.

“This is yours.” Honeydew extends a hand. In it, he holds one item which Rythian never hoped to see ever again.

The Vault Key rests on top of Honeydew’s too pink palm.

Rythian’s tempted to drop it into the Caustic Caverns, but this artifact is all that’s left of the Queen and what she once represented. Sighing, Rythian plucks it from Honeydew’s hand.

Rustling through his inventory digs up the old leather cord which it used to hang on, and the two halves of bone that once hid it. Rythian doesn’t feel complete now that it’s back with him. It’s missing the strange vibe that he used to get from it. Of course, she’s dead. She can’t make it stick to him anymore.

“Thank you.” Rythian doesn’t blame Honeydew for wanting to return it. They’re not that close, but Honeydew’s trying to help cheer him up in his own way. Is his own grief that obvious to the point that even the densest person notices?

“There’s something else I picked up too. Mind, it’s a bit creepy.” Honeydew hands him a weapon so alien that Rythian almost teleports it into the Caustic Caverns as well. He forces himself to take it.

Dark purple wraps around its exterior where it’s not pale white. The pale white matches a Guardian’s unblemished skin. Holding it in his hand elicits the vaguest, skin tingling sensation like it’s almost alive. 

The Eridian weapon in his hands could do anything. Its true name burns his tongue when he tries to say it, his scars recoiling like a provoked cat. Rythian puts it away. 

“We’re all having drinks downstairs if you get peckish or thirsty.” Honeydew leaves Rythian be on the rooftop to his own thoughts.

\--

On the mining rig, Lalna browses the files at his disposal. Fast Traveling up here drained some money from Ridgedog, but they’re letting him back onto the mining rig. This is where he’s been for the past week or so, aside from one other place.

Nobody else knows he’s here, trying to find answers that he’s owed. The accesses he’d been given give him complete freedom. Nothing’s hidden from him anymore. Still, Lalna’s ashamed, feeling dirtier and dirtier with every file he skims through.

Where are the blueprints that Ridgedog kept? Lalna curses himself for his own scatter-brainedness. He shouldn’t have trusted Ridgedog one bit. But what did it mean that Ridgedog’s returned from ‘leave’, when everything’s over?

Is Ridgedog trying to lure him into another false sense of security by giving him all these Hyperion CEO level privileges? Lalna could wipe the servers if he wanted to and hide all traces of his wrongdoing. He could bring down Helios onto Pandora by disabling the cores keeping it in place above the planet. He could even order moonshots to decimate Sanctuary Hole and finish what Sjin started.

What the fuck is up with all these intrusive thoughts? Lalna takes it as a sign that he’s cracking at last. Some part of his brain still isn’t fully convinced that everything is okay. He’s safe, he’s fine, he’s not in any danger. The part traumatized warns him that he can’t trust anybody.

Eyes beginning to blur from the strain of reading so many files in an hour, Lalna exits the terminal he’s sitting at. The room he’s in was supposed to be a worker’s briefing lounge. Ridgedog turned it into a snazzier rec room, installing a bunch of lava lamps, a holographic pool table, a portable hot tub and a fully stocked bar with a hijacked Loader serving as a bartender.

Lalna takes the bottle of mineral water it gives him, tipping it a dollar. The Loader takes the tip, dropping it into a tip jar that’s almost full. Either Sjin or Ridgedog made full use of the bar during their time here. If he wasn’t so hooked on Ravs’ famous moonshine, Lalna would ask for a drink. Great, even Pandora’s permanently ruined drinks for him.

He makes his way back to his room. Larry Robert’s wandering the decks, exploring the mining rig at their leisure. Learning that BebopVox installed a trimmed down, battle compatible copy of themself on Larry Robert’s only made the paternal instinct Lalna has towards his Loader worse. He still has to downgrade Larry Robert’s weaponry. That’s depressing, so he’s procrastinating the job. He also has no idea where BebopVox is gone; Zylus is tight-lipped about his friend’s disappearance, as with Xephos.

Maybe BebopVox perished in the attempt to take the mining rig back. That gives Lalna the willies, making him shiver. He’s residing in an A.I.’s grave. What if BebopVox is still around, haunting the systems? Lalna eyes the sleeping monitors installed in the walls. 

He also has the problem of installing and calibrating a bunch of new prosthetics on Lalnable’s orders. He can do that before crashing in bed. Sighing, Lalna punches in the code to his room. A flash of blue peering from behind Larry Robert has Lalna drawing the Bane. The gun screams as a weight drags at Lalna’s legs and arms.

The Bane’s no good in a high speed battle, so he’d skipped using it during the Vault episode. Ridgedog beams at him, stepping from their hiding place. Larry Robert blinks in recognition upon seeing Lalna.

“Welcome back! Larry Robert missed you.” Ridgedog is awfully chipper (as always, even ruining Lalna’s life). Larry Robert beeps in agreement. Somehow, Larry Robert’s dropped the enormous six cannons.

“Where’d your cannons go?” Lalna turns to Ridgedog, who’s grinning. “What’d you do to Larry Robert?” He accuses.

“Don’t worry! I simply compressed Larry Robert’s weaponry into a set of spare digistruct modules! It’s less conspicuous that way.” Ridgedog taps Larry Robert’s shoulders. There, painted the same shade of neon green and pink, are modules welded to Larry Robert’s frame.

“Listen, if you’re trying to make up for shoving me into that escape pod and stranding me on Pandora, it’s not fucking working.” Mood soured that Larry Robert accepted someone else tampering with their systems so easily, Lalna shoves past Ridgedog. Never mind that Larry Robert’s technically Hyperion property and Ridgedog’s got a big share of Hyperion’s stocks, so that claim on the robot’s up for debate.

“I don’t think you’d accept an apology from me,” Ridgedog observes, following Lalna. 

Lalna whirls on them. He’s dumped Bane into his inventory (eliciting another scream) to avoid shooting his boss. “No, I won’t!” Lalna points to the view of Pandora through the porthole. “You left your  _ stupid, insane _ plan to find Rythian, take the Vault Key from him no matter what, so you could open the Vault lying about but then  _ you _ died, so Sjin found your plan and then carried it out!”

“I see you wisely used the accesses I gave you!” Ridgedog seems awfully pleased by this. Lalna has a feeling that he’s walked into another trap. He’s so sick of being led around by the nose.

“I’ll finish building this rig, and then I’m gone. I’m headed back to the inner worlds.” It’s a shitty plan, but it’s a plan that Lalna’s okay with. The only downside is that nobody else knows about it, or that he’s leaving.

“Alone? Or with Lalnable?” Ridgedog prompts. That question is too similar to what Sjin asked him. Lalna doesn't feel safe responding, opting to deadeye him (thanks, Rythian, for creating such a trademark look). “Oh, he doesn’t know!”

“I don’t think he’d care if I left him.” Lalna puts down his hand, rubbing his face.

“That’s not true.” Ridgedog glances at Pandora.

“You know about it anyway, thanks to your extensive information network.” Lalna had poked at the network. It’d dumped too much information for his liking into his lap. He’d left it alone after that.

Ridgedog nods. “Indeed. Information is power, depending on how you use it.”

“That’s how you found Rythian. You trawled through encrypted Atlas files to find anything you could use to get Hyperion a lead on the Vaults.”

“Go on.” Ridgedog is toying with a spinner toy that Lalna  won out of a cereal box. “How did I find those files?”

“After Atlas went under, Helios’ last CEO bought everything. It was a gold mine. You cashed in on it by grabbing everything that Atlas was researching.” Ridgedog hums agreement, paying more attention to the toy in their hands than to Lalna.

“Unfortunately, Rythian erased key project files. It took me a very long time to piece it all together.” Ridgedog smirks. “He got a head start, which was long enough for him to disappear and take the Key with him. He has very loyal friends who’re happy to cover his tracks.”

If that’s a barb, Lalna isn’t going to fall for it. “Then why did you have me build the mining rig?”

“You got this far by using your noggin.” Ridgedog chuckles. “Keep using it. Think back to what condition you found the Vault in.”

Lalna flicks back through his cluster of memories, the ones that’d been at the back of his mind. He has it. “Rythian blocked it off too well. You needed me to build something that’d punch through it, and discretely, or else it’d draw attention.”

“Correct!” Ridgedog looks proud. “I also visited the site and found these, which confirmed my suspicions.” They digistruct an intimidating stack of books and papers, held together by rubber bands. 

Lalna needs only one look at the name inscribed on the cover. “Those are Rythian’s! Give those back!”

Ridgedog dances back, holding the lot to their chest. “These don’t belong to you!” More pointedly, they add, “How do you even know Rythian will accept them, if you’re the one giving them back?” That’s a point that Lalna has to stop and consider. Ridgedog tucks the papers and books into their jacket out of grabbing reach. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Lalna lies. “I think that Rythian would appreciate getting those back after being separating from them for so long.”

“True. They were after all, wrongfully stolen by me in the first place.” Ridgedog waves a Hyperion envelope. “Well! I’ll mail these in the morning via express moonshot.”

“Please don’t fire anything else at Three Horns, or people will have a fit.” Especially Lalnable.

“Good point!” Ridgedog perks up. “Why don’t I just give them to him in person?”

“Bad!” Lalna shouts before he can stop himself. Panting, he adds, “He’s not happy with Hyperion right now!”

“True! Why, aren’t you full of beans today?” Ridgedog is honestly happy, genuinely happy. So long as they’re not mocking him, Lalna is fine with this.

Also, throwing his current boss out of his room’s not an option on the table. Lalna settles for stewing in irritation (and now he’s starting to get how Lalnable feels), sitting on his unmade bed or else he’ll rocket punch Ridgedog in the face for being too annoying.

“Why did you change your mind about opening the Vault?” Lalna asks. “You wanted to open it, then you helped close it.”

“I knew she didn’t have a chance at living once Rythian found out.” Ridgedog shrugs. “I do have other means of achieving my objectives.”

“I don’t want to know what you’re up to.” Lalna is going to claim he’s innocent if anything else happens.

“Good. The less you know, the better. I do after all, already have other enemies to contend with without having to add you to that list.” Ridgedog never, ever sounds truthful, nor did they reveal what’s happening in their head.

Lalna squashes the feeling that a near death experience changed Ridgedog, but to what extent? Next, Ridgedog will be giving him backpay without any strings attached.

“What’s in here?” Ridgedog’s found his closet. They unlock it.

“Don’t!” Lalna dives at the door that’s sliding open. A tall, thin capsule tips. Lalna catches it in one hand, letting it bounce off his shoulder to rest against it. He sits up, cradling it in both hands.

“Interesting.” Ridgedog stares at the mangled, Siren tattooed arm floating freely in preservative. Bits of bone and flesh bob within. The tattoos are blue instead of a light purple. No traces of decomposition are amiss.

Lalna squirms on the floor. “It’s not what you think.”

“You’re trying to return Nanosounds her missing arm.”

“It’s not in the greatest condition, but I think I can save it.” Lalna pats the tube.

“It’s too far gone.” Ridgedog gingerly wrinkles their nose like they’re imagining the smell it’d give off outside the tube. “You’ll never be able to reattach it, not with wrecked nerves like that.”

“I can save it!” Lalna insists, holding it closer to him. “I just need time, and a proper lab. The stuff here is too basic to grow nerves, and doesn’t have the right calibration sensitivity–”

“A proper lab and time, you say?” Ridgedog tilts their head. “Helios has everything you need. You’ll need privacy too, but I’m sure they couldn’t refuse the head of R and D their pet projects.”

“Why are you being so nice?” Lalna squints at Ridgedog. “Normally you’d be throwing water balloons at me or dismantling Larry Robert for fun.”

“Did I do that?” Ridgedog’s eyes widen in horror. “Surely not!”

“Yeah! That was annoying.” And sad, what with Larry Robert not having done a thing to incur Ridgedog’s wrath. Maybe Ridgedog’s just naturally a sadistic prick who got off on torturing poor Loaders.

“I’m deeply sorry for any past grievances I’ve caused you, and fully understand that you don’t want to currently accept my apology as per our discussion, but I’d be happy to owe you any favours until you feel that I’ve made it up to you, and I won’t harm Larry Robert either from hereon–” Ridgedog’s random spiel has Lalna’s jaw dropping.

“Okay, stop, you’re being  _ weird.” _ Lalna despawns the tube, getting to his feet.

“A good weird?” Ridgedog tilts their head.

“Weird weird,” Lalna clarifies.

“I haven’t been myself lately, thanks to being trapped in hibernation for so long.” Ridgedog sighs.

“You did mention that earlier.” Lalna tries not to stare.

“Did I?” Ridgedog shrugs. “Well, then pardon me if I keep being weird weird. It’s hard being me, don’t you think?” And there’s that playfully chaotic vibe that Lalna despises, which made Ridgedog Ridgedog. “But the lab. Do you want it?”

“Yes.” Lalna also adds, “And you’re not allowed to log the stuff I get up to in that lab for Hyperion.”

“Scout’s honour,” Ridgedog promises. “And I’ll need your assistance in modifying the mining rig.”

“Modifying the rig?” Lalna can’t help but be curious.

“I have plans! And you’re a part of them. Come, let’s discuss this in my office.” Ridgedog is already out the door, dashing off towards the lift. Lalna grumbles, following too. “And bring the tube with you too!”

Lalna stares at the tube in his hands, then hefts it under his arm, jogging after Ridgedog. Half an hour later, Lalna returns to Pandora a changed man.

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Nanosounds: Mother.

Mother: Nanosounds.

Nanosounds: Where are you?

Mother: I’m currently checking out of the hospital.

Nanosounds: You’re not supposed to leave the hospital yet!

Mother: I am a grown-ass woman who has a business to run.

Nanosounds: You just said  _ ass. _

Mother: You, my daughter, also have business to attend to.

Nanosounds: What business?

Mother: Making sure your friends are fine.

Nanosounds: Oh, they’re more or less fine.

Will Strife: Hey Nano– hi Nanosounds’ Mother.

Mother: Hello, Strife. How are you?

Will Strife: Fine, thanks! Nano, I’ll just be over here, getting you some more bandages and keeping my mouth shut.

Mother: Bandages?

Nanosounds: Oh, it’s nothing, I’m just volunteering to help the doctor I’ve told you all about!

Will Strife: Oof!

Mother: Lalnable, was it?

Nanosounds: Yes, him. The grouchy one.

Mother: Please tell him that he currently has care packages being routed to his location.

Nanosounds: Mother, he’s supposed to be in hiding. 

Mother: Which is why I’m addressing it to Ravs.

Nanosounds: Does Ravs know what to do with it?

Mother: Of course he does. I ECHOed him earlier.

Nanosounds: You ECHOed Ravs.

Mother: Yes. I don’t see why you’re wearing such a shocked expression. He was perfectly pleasant and polite, though his accent did make it difficult to understand him sometimes.

Nanosounds: So, uh, why are you going home so soon?

Mother: I have a business to run, and poor Billy, Chrissa and Caff are starting to get overwhelmed.

Nanosounds: The business can wait for a few more days, right?

Mother: I still have to file for damages and legal action against Sjin.

Nanosounds: I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’ve already negotiated an agreement with Sips.

Mother: Is that so? My daughter, I’m very impressed with your initiative.

Nanosounds: Did you just praise me?

Mother: Did you not want praise?

Nanosounds: No, no, keep praising me. I love it!

Mother: I apologise, but Billy is here to pick me up. We’ll have to continue this conversation at a later date.

Nanosounds: Before you go, can I, um, call you ‘Mom’?

Mother: Of course you can, Nano.

Nanosounds: …Thanks, Mom.

Mother: Perhaps I can arrange to visit you on Pandora.

Nanosounds: That’s not necessary! You need to rest!

Mother: Don’t be silly, I can make it part of my business trip to check on Flux Inc.’s mining investments. In the meantime, take care. We shall talk soon.

Nanosounds: ...WILL STRIFE, WHERE’S LALNA? I NEED TO GET AN ARM THAT LOOKS LIKE MY OLD ARM.

Will Strife: STOP YELLING AND CALM DOWN!

Nanosounds: I’M SORRY BUT I’M FREAKING OUT ABOUT WHAT’LL HAPPEN IF MY MOM FINDS OUT I LOST AN ARM!

Will Strife: SHE SEEMS PRETTY CHILL.

Nanosounds: SHE’S NOT CHILL WHEN SHE THINKS SOMEONE’S HURT ME.

Will Strife: WELL, THE QUEEN’S ALREADY DEAD.

Nanosounds: SHE MIGHT ORDER A HIT ON RYTHIAN IF SHE FINDS OUT THAT THIS IS MORE OR LESS HIS JAM.

Will Strife: WELL, SHIT. 

\--

Rythian holds the handheld mirror at an angle. In the background, Lalnable examines the biometric scans of Rythian’s back, holding up the film to the light. Teep leans against the wall. They suppress a yawn, waving a hand over the front of their face. Rythian knows that they’re still paying attention to the rest of the room though, even under the guise of boredom.

The mirror angles a view of his own back at him. Rythian examines his own back. The two deformed eyes melded into his skin are closed, sleeping. The skin is still stained as always, but when Rythian presses a finger to the veins stretching along his shoulder, it’s just skin. No shards, and best of all, no sensation of phantom pain when he sleeps.

He returns the mirror to its stand, reaching for his shirt. Lalnable’s about to clear him for discharge, satisfied with his progress. Eating’s still a problem, but Ravs has been cooking meals once he’d heard about Rythian’s loss of appetite. It’s also difficult to disappoint Ravs, so Rythian tries to clear the plate as best as he can.

Lalnable shuts the films in their packet, briskly walking to stand in front of Rythian. “Your scans reveal no more shards are left. Your stitches should also dissolve any day now. Physical therapy will come naturally to you.”

“Am I good to go?”

“Not quite.” Lalnable spawns an empty jar with the Hyperion label peeling off. He spawns another container. This one has a biohazard sticker taped to it, the lid sealed with a lock. “I’ve been reading the results of all the Hyperion eridium and slag research that Teep’s provided, and examined both collection of shards.”

“I didn’t realise you were so intent on finding out a cure.” Rythian tugs his shirt over his head. He winds the bandages into place, pulling them tight. He’s not shocked that Teep hung onto the shards from all those years ago.

“There is no cure.” Lalnable sighs. “As far as I know, you two are the last of your kind.”

“What kind?” Rythian switches his gaze to Teep. Teep’s still leaning against the wall, though he can feel their interest being piqued.

“Hyperion calls people like you ‘Eternals’, people who’ve been mutated by Eridians. There used to be a group on Elpis, but Hyperion wiped them all out.” Lalnable hands Rythian a photo. Rythian mentally matches it to the Dahl corpses languishing in Vorago’s Solitude. He hands the photo back.

“The Queen’s not an Eridian,” Rythian begins.

“Semantics aside, the mutations are identical enough.” Lalnable paces the room, clearly agitated. “But you and Teep are the first people to come back from an ‘ascension.’”

“What’s so unique about that?”

“Calling you ‘Eternals’ is a misnomer. Once you ascend, there’s no turning back. Pun not intended.” Lalnable waves the packet of scans at Rythian. “We don’t know if you can ascend a second time, but the trigger appears to be a brush with death.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Rythian murmurs. If the Queen intended for him to murder all his friends before releasing him back to lucidity, she’d failed.

“We’re not testing that,” Lalnable says. “But there’s other side effects, which I’m sure you’ve had fun finding out.”

Rythian blushes. Lalnable knows about the involuntary teleporting, thanks to Parvis accidentally dropping a tray onto the floor. Startled, Rythian had teleported into a broom closet and needed Lalnable to let him out.

“Are there any other side effects?”

“We don’t know.” Lalnable takes a deep breath. “Which is why I’d like to keep tabs on you two.”

“Including Teep?” Rythian blinks. “I didn’t realise Teep’s an Eternal too.”

> i dont advertise it and you shouldnt either bc there are some kinky people whod be down to fuck freaks like us

Rythian suppresses a snort, and ignores the knowing look he can feel he’s getting.

“You’re not freaks,” Lalnable firmly says. “Aside from chronic eridium poisoning that makes it impossible for me to read your blood samples, you two are like any other humans.”

“What do we have to do?”

“Just return every now and again.” Lalnable signs the discharge form. “You can go. I’ll send you details of your next appointment with me later.”

\--

Physical therapy does come naturally to Rythian. Ravs offers to help him (sometimes with a wink, other times, without) but Rythian turns down his help. He doesn’t reject Ravs’ company. Or anybody else who offers to tag along on his walks. Today, it’s Zoeya’s turn.

Zoeya’s decimated arm has a prototype shackled to her arm with leather straps until Lalnable can contact Lalna. She respects that Rythian’s not up to talking. Junior’s a common sight with Rythian these days.

Rythian can’t refuse Zoeya’s request to let her examine Junior. She’s so fascinated by Junior’s existence. Rythian is too, but less so, because he’s more baffled than curious.

The three of them are on the outskirts of Three Horns, near the repaired bridge leading into Sanctuary Hole. Making it this far is a new goal for him. Rythian slumps on an ammo crate, catching his breath. Junior endures the icy drafts pushing them through the air.

Zoeya’s borrowing Saberial’s jacket. It sits a size too large on her shoulders, though Zoeya’s pulled it around herself as tight as it can go. Saberial’s trying to convince Panda to return home to explain the situation; Panda’s made the decision to stay with the Vault Hunters. Teep’s being dragged in both directions. For once, they’re not running away.

Saberial’s ship lifts off from inside the Caustic Caverns, a tiny speck. It turns, zooming higher and higher. Rythian and Zoeya watch it vanish between two cloudy wisps.

“Rythian!” A voice that Rythian hasn’t heard since the Vault echoes towards him. Rythian closes his eyes, fighting a fresh wave of resentment and anger.

“Lalna!” Zoeya glances at Rythian like she’s worried about his reaction. Too late, Lalna’s already here for her to cut him off and spare Rythian from seeing him.

Rythian opens his eyes as Lalna jogs into view. His faithful Loader’s nowhere to be seen. He glances at Junior, looking spooked; somebody must have warned him about the Putti since he doesn’t shoot. He doubles over, clutching a stitch in his side.

“How about I take Junior for a walk?” Zoeya lifts her real hand up, for Junior to take. Junior places a claw atop her palm, letting her lead them off. The two make the journey back across the bridge to Sanctuary Hole.

So, Lalna’s back. His blond hair’s still an eternal mess that sticks up, his green eyes full of life (compared to the hollowed, dull things that they’d been a few months ago). The lab coat’s gone. A ‘I <3 Pandora’ shirt with the ‘<3’ crossed out is Lalna’s current t-shirt. He’s traded his old jeans for a new pair. Lalna kicks at the ground to dislodge the pebble caught under one sole. It’s new boots he’s wearing.

Rythian rises from the crate, slipping off it so that he’s towering over Lalna. He’s never enjoyed his height advantage until now. There’s something satisfying about the way Lalna looks ready to bolt. He stays, biting his lower lip.

Lalna spots the Vault Key trinket winding around Rythian’s neck. “I see you got the Vault Key back!” His attempt to lighten the mood, get the conversation started, falls short. Rythian doesn’t respond, staring intently at him.

He teleports, closing the gap between him and Lalna. Lalna recoils from the backhanded slap Rythian delivers straight to his face. The force of the slap throws him aside. He hits the ground, rubbing at his stinging cheek.

“I can understand why you did it, but at the same time, I don’t,” Rythian says, his voice dangerously soft. He turns on his heel, heading back to Sanctuary Hole. The back of his hand burns along his knuckles through the bandages.

Lalna picks himself up off the ground, shaking like a leaf. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry.” Rythian lets his voice go flat with that delivery.

“I’m leaving Pandora after I finish things.” Lalna fidgets with his mechanical hand, the joints clicking. “You won’t see me again.”

“You shouldn’t leave yet.” Rythian teleports the crate and another one over, dropping both next to him. He settles down on one, inviting Lalna to take a seat. “We have a lot of talking to do.”

Lalna doesn’t need any other prompting to sit, grateful that Rythian’s giving him the opportunity to explain himself.

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Lalnable: Trottimus, Alsmiffy and Ross.

Trottimus: Here.

Ross: What he said.

Alsmiffy: Mmf!

Lalnable: That’ll do. Do you know why you’re here?

Trottimus: It’s about Alsmiffy’s condition, and Ross’ back.

Lalnable: Correct– what is Alsmiffy doing.

Alsmiffy: Mmmmmm.

Ross: He’s just itchy and wants me to scratch his back since he can’t reach with all those bandages on.

Lalnable: Need I remind you to keep those bandages on for as long as possible?

Alsmiffy: Mff.

Ross: He gets it, he’s just being a shit.

Alsmiffy: Mmmf!

Trottimus: You were saying?

Lalnable: Ross’ back is healing very well.

Ross: Might have been Parvis tripping and falling onto me that did it.

Lalnable: Unorthodox, but so long as you’re not in any more pain.

Ross: I could cartwheel for you!

Lalnable: Please don’t, I just finished cleaning up the room.

Trottimus: Which leaves Alsmiffy.

Lalnable: Yes, Alsmiffy.

Alsmiffy: Mmmmmm.

Trottimus: What’s wrong with him? Why are there bandages on his face and not his body?

Lalnable: The truth is that his face is already restored.

Alsmiffy: Mm.

Trottimus: What do you mean?

Lalnable: Your surveyors are too good at their job. Their beams did all the necessary healing. All I had to do was order basic cell cultures, replicate the cells taken from your old grafts and graft them where the surveyors couldn’t reach.

Trottimus: Wait, when did you take samples from me?

Lalnable: Back during your examination after you found me.

Trottimus: Is that why you insisted I signed that paperwork and prepped all those scrapers and needles?

Lalnable: Yes. It’s good to see that my hunch that you’d need it was right, even if it was used for a different person.

Ross: Are you also saying that Alsmiffy didn’t need the bandages on his face?

Trottimus: This entire time?

Alsmiffy: …You’re a fucking asshole, Lalnable!

Lalnable: That’s what you get for abusing the call button and harassing Parvis for lollipops. That’s about it. Keep an eye on yourselves. I’ll book another appointment for you three in about two weeks.

Trottimus: Thanks, but I agree that Alsmiffy could use the bandages every once in awhile.

Alsmiffy: No, I don’t!

Ross: I think he needs them right now!

\--

Zylus drops the last fuel canister into the back of the technical. He ties it into place, securing it. The rest of the supplies sit in his inventory. He dusts his hands off, stepping back from the vehicle. The technical’s ready. All that’s left is to get in and drive out of T-Bone Junction.

The town itself is hosting Dead Worker’s Party, a gang of wandering bikers Zylus frequently trades with. At the moment, they’re townsitting for him. They’ll let the shield down before he leaves. Daltos exits the building that’d served as his temporary home and prison.

“Good trip to you both,” Brett bids from the garage. He toasts with the hand that’s holding the bottle of rakk ale. “Bandits been real quiet down south, but that don’t mean that you won’t run into trouble.”

“You sound like Minty.” Daltos climbs up and into the turret. Zylus isn’t sure how he’ll shoot with one eye gone; he’s traded the bandages for an eyepatch.

“She gives good advice,” Eric notes, popping out of the garage as well to say goodbye. “We’ll look after the town!”

“I know you will!” Zylus clambers into the driver’s seat. In five minutes, he and Daltos are hitting the road, the technical’s twin engines loud in Zylus’ ears.

On a stretch of highway where he has to make minimal adjustment to stay on course, Zylus chances an upwards glance. Daltos is resting his face on one hand, the other tucked against his chest. He’s watching the desert pass by beneath the suspended highway, already bored.

The feeling in Zylus’ heart twists, squashing itself flat against his real heart. He said he’d talk to him. There hasn’t been a moment that Zylus could use to do so, though. Things have been busy, and not.

Once he’d recovered, Daltos departs on trips between his frigate and Lalnable’s clinic. He claims he’s in decent health when Zylus asks. The way he keeps having to sit down every hour or so and rest is a tipoff that he’s not.

Searching for matching symptoms results in an array of confusing and anxiety inducing diseases, syndromes and disorders, even cancer. Zylus immediately closed his HUD, giving up on that front. Of course Daltos isn’t going to be in top shape after the war. It’s unreasonable to expect him to be, which just worsens Zylus’ fretting.

Zylus reflects on the moment where he’d inevitably found out about the road trip. It’d been Zylus’ hope that he wouldn’t find out until the day he’d left. Daltos had cornered him and immediately demanded to accompany him. Zylus couldn’t deny him a second time.

The two of them really don’t want to be too far from each other, but don’t want to openly admit it. As for the  _ other _ reason why Daltos is accompanying him, Daltos is tracking down a few missing lieutenants who’d vanished during his gang’s schmism. Zylus hopes to find the relatives of T-Bone Junction’s residents, and update them about the plague deaths.

It’s never too late to take action. The quote he’d cracked out of one of Nilesy’s crackers had told him. Zylus wants to apply it to lots of things, starting with Daltos.

He forces himself to turn back to the road. The two have a long trip ahead of them, and starting it by crashing because of his staring is going to be counter-productive.

Daltos and Zylus end up resting by the side of the road every few hours so the two of them can stretch their legs. Daltos is off relieving himself; Zylus waits, consulting the road map in his HUD.

The skies are clear, cloudless and the sun is hot enough to melt rubber. It’s perfect Pandoran weather. Zylus keeps one eye on his radar, and the other on the direction Daltos went off in. Out here, it’s easy to get ambushed thanks to inattentiveness. He doesn’t have Teep, Ravs and Rythian to cover him this time.

He kind of misses the old days of endless wandering. Hit by nostalgia, Zylus sighs just as Daltos hikes back up the slope. 

Daltos smells of the hand sanitizer Zylus lent him. He tosses the bottle at Zylus. “What’s wrong?” He pauses, about to climb back into the turret. The stare Zylus is getting from him is no less intense than it usually is, even if he’s down an eye. “You hungry?”

Zylus didn’t have breakfast. His stomach agrees with his brain that food would be fantastic. “Yeah.” He disguises his nostalgia by nodding.

Daltos steps down from the technical. “Let me drive.” He gently pushes past Zylus.

“Lalnable said not to let you drive!” Zylus protests, blocking him by getting in his way. Daltos steps back, raising an eyebrow.

“If I can shoot, I can drive.” Daltos tries again, reaching past Zylus. Zylus slaps his hands away from the frame. “You planning on tattling?”

“No,” Zylus mumbles.

Daltos gives one of his little sighs, the one where he sounds like about to have his patience tested. “I’m not going to crash.” When Zylus doesn’t budge, he adds, “Look, what are people going to ask for, my ID?”

“You don’t even have a proper license,” Zylus says before he can help himself. A beat of a stunned silence happens.

Daltos laughs, Zylus joining in a second later. Zylus has to lean on the technical, calming down as his giggles subside. Daltos reaches past him to presumably do the same thing, so Zylus shifts– Daltos vaults into the driver’s seat.

Zylus shoves off the side of the technical; just as well, since Daltos takes off down the road. “Daltos!” Zylus screams at him. It’s useless, the engine’s too loud. The taillights blink in farewell at him.

He drops his head, his old terror at being stranded in the middle of nowhere all too real. Well, he has his ECHO device so it’s not like he’s being abandoned again. The what ifs of nobody picking up stall his hand from picking up his ECHO device.

Blinking back tears, Zylus taps into the exercise that Minty’s tried to teach him to use whenever he’s on the verge of a random panic attack (it’s nice knowing what the crushing, empty feeling in his chest is now called, a bit like putting a name to an enemy’s face).

He doesn’t pick up on the sound of a technical approaching, too busy counting his breaths. When the technical stops by him, Zylus glances up. Daltos rests an arm on the technical’s lower frame, one hand on the steering wheel. All he’s missing is sunglasses.

“You didn’t think I’d really leave you behind, did you?” He cocks a smug eyebrow at Zylus. Zylus sniffs, and hates the way how Daltos freezes at the sound. “Shit, you’re not–”

“I’m not,” Zylus snaps at him, suddenly pissed that he’d pull a stupid joke like that, especially since any time where they’re not in a stone’s throw of each other is bound to cause  _ problems _ , that they haven’t talked about yet since there’s  _ other  _ problems in the way.

“Zylus–” Daltos moves to get out of the technical.

“Don’t bother, you can fucking drive.” Zylus sits in the back of the technical so he doesn’t have to look at his stupid face and so that Daltos can’t talk to him.

Daltos drives in silence. Zylus rests his head against his knees. He doesn’t want to cry anymore, thank fuck, but dealing with almost breaking the image of normalcy he’s trying to project is still no easier.

He must have napped. He wakes to a folded blue jacket tucked underneath his head. Sore and aching, Zylus sits up with a groggy jolt. The technical’s silent beneath him. Blinking, Zylus glances around. The technical’s parked in a proper carpark. Technicals, light runners, trucks and cars form a constant relay of noise, activity and movement.

A creak of metal on his left has him turning. Daltos is sitting on the roof of the technical, his boots tucked into a corner, away from Zylus. He’s wearing a simple black tank top. It’s attracting a few interested stares from passerbys. This irks Zylus.

“Had a nice nap?” Daltos tentatively asks. An unlit smoke hangs from his hand. The memory of him trying to ditch has Zylus clambering out of the technical. Zylus throws the jacket in his face. “Zylus!” He calls, shoving the jacket down as Zylus shoves the door open and steps into the diner.

Even on Pandora, Maliwan’s famous diners still manage to appear stylish, retrofitted with classy chrome, plastic so red that it’s been trademarked fifteen times and a menu catering to classic and modern tastes. It does tell Zylus that Daltos drove for at least three hours to reach it; this is the closest Maliwan diner to T-Bone Junction.

Zylus’ mouth waters at the smell of frying food. He picks a booth table at the back, next to the fire exit. The holographic menu flickers across the table’s surface when he sits down. Zylus pretends to be reading it when Daltos joins him.

Daltos sits opposite him, his back turned on the bustling and hustling diner. He’s not carrying his jacket, though he still toys with his cigarette. An ashtray digistructs by the sauce dispensers. 

“Zylus,” He murmurs, watching Zylus. Fuming, Zylus ignores him, having reached the list of milkshakes being offered. Daltos extends a hand, waving it between Zylus’ face and the menu. “Zylus.” Zylus stares down ‘Chocolate Attack’ like he’s got a hundred bucks on the line for a staring contest. A rogue hand appears in his view, tapping it. Zylus stares as the order’s submitted. The same hand taps an order for food. He looks up at Daltos, who’s leaning back now that he has Zylus’ undivided attention. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Yes, I am.” Zylus crosses his arms across his chest, glaring at him.

Daltos swallows. “Look, that was stupid of me.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I thought it’d be funny,” Daltos admits, looking guilty.

“It really wasn’t.” Zylus has a flashback to the paralysing terror waiting to prey on him the instant he lets his guard down. It lasts for a second.

“I’m sorry.” Daltos rubs at his face with the hand that’s not holding his cigarette. “That was insensitive and thoughtless of me.”

Never in a thousand years had Zylus expected to hear an apology from him. Zylus closes his mouth, trying not to let his shock show on his face. Fortunately, Daltos has his eye shut.

“Why’d you stop here?” Zylus changes the topic before it gets too awkward. It hasn’t even been a fully day since they’d started this road trip, and already, there’s been a disagreement. Pessimism foreshadows plenty more in store before the trip’s over.

“You said you were hungry before your nap,” Daltos points out. “I thought I’d stop here so we could get some decent grub.”

“Oh.” Touched that he remembered, Zylus summons the menu again to see what Daltos ordered. Daltos didn’t order much; he’s still taking medication for his heart. Lalnable’s orders also include making sure that he eats when taking them, even if Zylus has to watch him do so.

There’s the milkshake that he ordered for Zylus, but Zylus sees that he also put in an order for the skag burger, curly fries, sausages and eggs. It’s a staggering amount of food to have in one sitting. Daltos also ordered coffee for the both of them. Most of the food’s for Zylus then.

“Daltos?”

“Hm?” Daltos hums, propping his face on one hand.

“Have you ever been here before?”

“Minty recommended it.” Daltos nods at the bounty board by the juke box. Hanging on it is a list of champion eaters. Minty’s name is listed. Zylus discretely snaps a picture to pass onto Hollie later.

Speaking of which, Daltos ditched his jacket. Zylus guesses that being dressed like a bandit’s bound to attract unwanted attention. Zylus mixed and matched his Dahl combat uniform to pass as a freelancer. He does miss the comfort of his old outfit though. Daltos doesn’t, if his reaction to the new outfit was anything to go by.

“What’d she say about this place?”

“Avoid all the meatloaf,” Daltos flatly quotes. “And definitely try the curly fries with the special sauce.” He leans forward so he’s not overheard. “Bandits don’t usually travel this far outland. Too much interference with borders.”

“Isn’t this part of your territory though?” Zylus watches him. As far as he knows, Daltos ruled the east coast with an iron fist, refusing to let any other gang intrude on his turf. There hasn’t been much sign of a power struggle but then again, they’ve only been traveling for half a day or so.

Daltos chuckles. “Some places just prefer not to recognise my gang’s authority.” He inclines his head at the built sheriff wolfing down waffles behind him.

The sausages and eggs arrive on a dinner plate, glistening with a layer of oil and fat that Zylus can nearly imagine the extra weight stacking like coins in his gut. The milkshake is a tower of gloopy liquid so thick that it clogs the straw when Zylus tries the first sip. Curly fries spill out of their paper holder.

Daltos eats his medication and sips at his coffee after, throwing occasional, coveting glances at Zylus’ food. He finally reaches over to pinch a curly fry, munching on it. Zylus doesn’t mind; he knows that Daltos is hungry, and is pretending not to be, for some reason. He splits the food with Daltos, sharing the plate. 

Zylus belatedly remembers why he’s mad, and tries to glare at him over the top of his milkshake. He fails, earning a smirk from Daltos. “Zylus, finish your milkshake like the good boy you are.”

Zylus nearly chokes on his drink, and kicks Daltos underneath the table. He does finish his milkshake though. “Bathroom. I’ll be back for payback. Don’t eat all my fries,” He warns.

Ten minutes later, Zylus returns. He stares at the tray before Daltos. 

Daltos munches on what’s clearly the last fry, swallows and then says, “Wasn’t me.” At the disappointed but unsurprised look on Zylus’ face, he adds, “I’ll make it up to you later.” He smirks. “I’d roguishly wink at you, but I only got one eye right now.”

Zylus fights a blush, pretending to sulk about not eating the last fry.

Half a week later as night is falling, Daltos pulls into a deserted parking lot of a motel. It’s dribbling, a light coating of delayed rain covering the region. Pandora’s breaking new records for rain this year, if the chatter on FyreUK’s fuzzy broadcast is right.

Zylus locks the technical. Daltos is already headed upstairs with the room’s key. He’s apparently been here before, the motel owner recognising him. Zylus sees moving shadows as he passes the lobby, and pins it on how tired he is.

The room has a single bed, snug and welcoming. Zylus closes the door behind him. It locks automatically. Neither he nor Daltos start at the sound. Daltos’ gaze shifts to him, and Zylus catches it.

An hour later, Zylus curls up against Daltos’ side. Daltos sleepily mumbles, “Remind you of our first time?”

“Only with less thunder and lightning,” Zylus mumbles back. The calloused hand on his back pats him, moving to his hair so fingers can comb through it.

Zylus drifts off to sleep. Barely seven hours later, Zylus finds himself on the floor, winded. His abdomen aches from a hard blow; Zylus leaps onto his feet, seeking the cause. The room’s empty, save for him and Daltos.

Daltos is pressed against the headboard in a half-crouch, staring right through Zylus. Trying to stay out of grabbing distance, Zylus checks his eye. His pupil’s dilated. His breathing’s ratcheted up a notch, disturbed and uneven.

“Daltos?” Zylus whispers. 

Daltos’ hand reaches for his digistruct modules. Zylus slips his hand around a wrist. The touch stops Daltos. With a gentle tug, he manages to seat him on the bed. One of them kicked off the sheets and the pillows onto the carpeted floor. It’s good that it’s dark.

Zylus waits for him to calm down. He times it. Twenty minutes later, Daltos slumps until he’s on his back, sprawled out on the bed. He’s taking up almost all of the space but Zylus lets it slide.

“Sorry.” Daltos’ sheepish mutter has a fair amount of shame clinging to it.

There’s going to be a massive bruise where he shoved Zylus. Zylus neglects to mention it, settling next to him. “Nightmare?”

Daltos rubs at his face. It’s a long minute before he explains. “I thought Arado was on top of me, trying to cut out my eye again.” A nightmare. What’d triggered it, though?

Zylus puts two and two together, mentally replaying what’d happened before he’d ended up on the floor. “Was it when I accidentally rolled over onto you?”

“I think so.” Daltos sighs. “I’ll try not to shove you that hard again, if you still want to…?” He gestures vaguely.

Zylus nods, getting the drift of his unfinished sentence. Daltos returns the other side of the bed back to Zylus. Zylus crawls in, also picking up the missing pillow and sheets.

Once they’re both settled, Daltos stiffens, then succumbs to Zylus’ arm winding around his midriff. He rolls onto his side. From here, Zylus sees his back, marked by war, time, and love. If he had a bigger ego, he’d proudly add himself to that list.

Zylus would still like to explain himself, and the complicated tangle of feelings he takes with him everywhere. Trouble is, he can’t find the right moment or time. He and Daltos carry on, traversing through Pandora’s landscape. It would have been faster to take the Fast Travel, but Zylus wanted to go on a private journey. It’s not private anymore, now that Daltos is with him, but Zylus appreciates his company, more than ever.

When night arrives and they’re too tired to drive, one of them pulls over onto the side of the road. The two sleep under the stars, waking up eight hours later to carry on. Pandora’s night lasts longer, so it’s by dawn that the two trade driving shifts.

The two of them stop by every motel and eatery on the road. 

At one of them, Zylus pokes through a gift shop at a place that used to be an old spaceport in a town that’s somehow still alive. He buys a new spare tire, trading the burst one in to be recycled. He also talks spaceship parts with the garage, carefully marking the town’s coordinates in his map to return later.

The locals dare Daltos into trying the local speciality, fried thresher bits. They have no idea who he is, and for some reason, this makes Daltos oddly happier. Daltos tries to get Zylus to try some; Zylus declines, not wanting to risk a stomachache a few hours later on the road. 

Daltos wins a cheesy t-shirt captioned with ‘I ate a whole bowl of thresher bits and didn’t throw up’. He ends up wearing it three hours later when the technical’s underside pisses oil on him. Zylus laughs at him as Daltos grumpily scrubs the oil off his face.

As a detour, Daltos risks taking him to a bandit’s market at Prosperity Junction. For this, Zylus borrows Daltos’ spare outfit, changing behind a cliff. Daltos dons his former outfit as well. He pulls out a bandanna with his gang’s flag painted on it. He wraps it around Zylus’ upper arm, tying it tight. His gaze lingers on Zylus before he turns, climbing back into the technical.

The ride up to the market has Zylus worrying if he’ll be let in, even while disguised. Daltos parks the technical in a clearly marked handicapped spot; the bandit watching over parking waves him in once they see his eyepatch. Zylus keeps his head down low, trying to blend in.

The sleepy bandit at the gate stamps Zylus’ hand without a second glance, and the triumphant grin Daltos shoots him as they join the dawn crowd has Zylus’ heart panging.

Everywhere where Zylus looks, there’s bandits, from all over the region, even hailing from as far as the west and southern coasts. Zylus could go dizzy from trying to note all the colors, insignias, gangs and symbols marking each individual gang.

He had to take off his monocle, so he can’t see as well as he’d like. Scared that he’ll get separated from Daltos, Zylus sticks close to him. Daltos wanders through the stalls.

Zylus waits when Daltos stops by a stall stocked with enough cheese to drop rakks and stink up a town worse than a decomposing rakk hive’s body. Zylus’ mouth waters; slices of cheese are frying in a pan. Oil pops, arcing through the air. The aroma beckons to Zylus’ stomach. The bandit turning the slices over raises a grubby eyebrow at Zylus. Zylus lowers his gaze, embarrassed about staring.

Daltos notices that he’s stopped. Without waiting for Zylus’ response, he steps over, and returns with two samples in hand. 

Zylus’ mouth closes around the cube impaled on the toothpick, and for a few blissful seconds, he’s in heaven. Daltos munches, chewing thoughtfully. Zylus already wants another; he doesn’t want to bother Daltos for seconds.

Daltos walks over, and haggles for cheese with the giant bandit wearing a butcher’s apron and a cleaver strapped to their hip. He ends up trading a few of those odd, black filled jars Zylus saw under his bed in Lalnable’s clinic. The giant bandit grins, grunting that the two of them enjoy themselves. Daltos thanks them, hefting the giant rind into his inventory.

Zylus can’t believe he simply bought it; he and Daltos can’t eat it all. Daltos explains that it’s for the people back at the clinic. Zylus can have some too, of course.

As the two of them explore the market, Daltos keeps feeding him random samples. The skag jerky that Zylus tries lights his mouth with a slow burn that keeps lingering even after he washes it down with a cup of water. Ripe and edible bladeflower buds leave a sweet and sour residue on his tongue, reminding him of hard candy concealing a surprise on the inside. He enjoys a plate of tiny pancakes dusted with crystallised sugar that Daltos buys for him.

Daltos keeps trading with those mysterious jars of his, stuffing his goods into his inventory. Zylus suspects that his inventory’s modified too, thanks to BebopVox.

At some point, Daltos stares at a Psycho watching over a booth all by themself. The Psycho doesn’t stop enticing passerbys, leather apron fitting poorly over their navy blue armour. They spot Daltos and freeze.

“Heinkel!” Daltos vaults over the table and dives into the booth after them, the curtains flapping after him. A small ruckus results, sounds of glass breaking, and wailing. He emerges, dragging an armoured Psycho by the arm around their wares.

“I AM THE BOTTOM OF THE WELL!” The Psycho frantically spouts gibberish at him, gesticulating with a hand that’s missing two fingers. “YOU HAIL FROM HERE!” They point to their heart.

“Good to see you too,” Daltos grumbles. When he’s sure that they’re not going to run from him, he lets go. 

Heinkel grabs his face, examining it. They tut. “DAMAGE SUPER EFFECTIVE.” Daltos doesn’t like being touched, but he’s enduring this with patience. Zylus hangs back. “TOO MANY DEAD BABIES?”

“Yeah, too many dead.” Daltos is released. He rubs at his face. “Why are you here?”

Heinkel proudly spreads their arms wide. “THE DRINK AND COIN GO TOGETHER.”

“Why weren’t you at the battle?”

Heinkel shrinks, comically adopting a sheepish posture. “SEPARATION MESSY. MIDDLE SAFE, IN BUNKER.”

“You hid.” Daltos sighs. 

“MANY SORRIES.” Heinkel flings themself onto the ground at his feet. The bandits around them simply adjust course like this is a normal coincidence.

“You’re off the hook. It’s good that you’re alive, since I need to know where Blohm and Voss are.”

“BRAIN FART!” Heinkel leaps back onto their feet. They snatch up a stick of chalk off the table, scribbling furiously onto a blackboard, over the top of their prices. “THE FLOCK IS ROOSTING, NOW THAT THE FILTHY PARASITES ARE DEAD?” Heinkel whirls on Daltos, staring intensely at him through their mask.

“The parasites are dead,” Daltos confirms.

Heinkel rejoices, throwing both their arms into the air like they’re power lifting weights. They stop, hunching while looking at him. “YOU RETURN?”

“And you?” Daltos rebuffs their question with a question.

“IF PATRIARCH DEMANDS, THEN I MUST OBEY!” Heinkel deeply bows. “BUT FIRST, IT’S DANGEROUS TO GO ALONE, TAKE THIS.” They hand him a cardboard box that’s nearly bursting at the seams with off-coloured bottles of moonshine. “FOR THE DIONYSIAN GOD.”

“For Ravs? Alright.” Daltos turns to Heinkel as he’s about to leave. “I’ll ECHO you. Stay safe.”

“CONFIRM!” Heinkel salutes, then point to Zylus. “BUDDIES STICK TOGETHER.” They nod. “ALWAYS.” Daltos grins, then waves as he walks off with Zylus.

Their journey concludes nearly three weeks later. Zylus hands over the coordinates of the graves to the last of the deceased’s relatives. The old man’s family had tearfully accepted the fishing rod Zylus returned. He’d insisted they keep it. He never caught anything with it anyway.

None of the people he visited blamed him for taking so long to open up about T-Bone Junction’s demise. Retelling the story with every family lessens the guilt and shame that’s been a part of him for so long. Zylus can’t help thinking what he’ll be without the burden. 

Daltos spends the time sightseeing, or waiting in the technical. He’s easier to be with, after those times. Zylus wants it to stay this way, forever.

\--

Arsenal’s sitting outside of Lalnable’s clinic when Daltos and Zylus arrive. He’s still traveling on crutches. Arden and Dick bound towards Daltos and Zylus, huffing and panting. Zylus isn’t sure how to treat the kraggons, especially since he knows that they’re a hazard to Minty’s ice gathering trips on Elpis. Minty’s coordinating Sanctuary Hole’s rebuilding efforts, sharing the load with Turpster.

“Welcome back!” Arsenal watches as Arden and Dick’s tails wag when the two meet Daltos.

Daltos greets them with pats. The kraggons move onto Zylus, rearing onto their back legs to reach him. Watching Zylus hesitate, Arsenal shouts, “They don’t bite! Just give them a pat and they’ll leave you alone!”

“Okay.” Zylus reaches out a tentative hand towards the nearest kraggon. He has no idea how Arsenal’s telling the two kraggons apart; clearly it’s some knack of his, being their owner and all. 

The kraggon’s hide is surprisingly warm to the touch, as warm as a technical that’s been left to idle for a while. It’s also rough, startlingly smooth in certain places, like the surface of a decaying statue. Arden or Dick bark (it sounds more like a ‘burf’ though), nudging the palm of his hand with their stony head. The other kraggon gets a pat too before Zylus withdraws his hand as quick as he can without offending Arsenal and the kraggons.

Pleased with the pats received, the kraggons return to Arsenal’s side. Arsenal leans down to pat them as well. “Good boners! Now stay there.” Arden yawns, curling up as Dick investigates the vending machines to the side of Lalnable’s clinic.

Zylus looks up to see Daltos staring at him with an unreadable expression. Daltos shakes his head. His face clears, shifting to neutrality. Arsenal’s too busy with luring Dick back; Dick’s discovered the rubber flap that pushes up so people could retrieve items, sticking their head in to have a good sniff.

“I think your boner’s getting into trouble again,” Daltos comments. Zylus fights a laugh, stuffing it away.

“Hey Daltos, drag Dick back here, would you?” Arsenal requests when Dick doesn’t pay attention to his whistling. 

“Fine.” Daltos grabs Dick’s collar, tugging them. “Come on, get out of there before you get stuck and we end up with another ECHOnet hit.”

Dick whines, removing their head from the vending machine slot. They turn their head to attempt licking Daltos’ hand. Daltos drops them next to Arden. Arsenal clips a leash to Dick. Dick sulks, snuggling against their sleeping twin.

“Thanks man.” Arsenal connects the leash to one of his crutches. Dick tries tugging on it, staring imploringly at Arsenal to loosen it. He clicks his tongue. “You’re not going anywhere until you learn to stop wandering onto the road, you little shit.” Dick huffs as if that’s something Arsenal’s making up, putting their head down to rest too. “So, where’d you go?” Arsenal inquires.

Zylus takes a seat on an ammo crate. There’s no other chairs around. Arsenal probably stole one from the waiting room to drag it outside. Daltos sits on the ground. Forsaking rest for five seconds, Dick immediately takes advantage by clambering into his lap, resting their head on his knee.

Daltos lets them stay. “Trapped, but I don’t mind,” He mutters, looking up. “Well, I found some of my missing lieutenants.”

“Who’d you find?” Arsenal leans forward.

“I found Blohm and Voss hiding in their main warehouse, their fingers ready on the self-destruct button to their factory.” Daltos sighs. “Took me a while to convince them that I wasn’t out to get them either for giving Arado all those Buzzards.”

“They still with us?” Arsenal adjusts a leash so that Dick doesn’t strain at it. Daltos nods. “Great!”

Zylus doesn’t really see why it’s great; as far as he knows, Daltos’ gang is still intact, with the exception of several units who’d been annihilated during Sanctuary Hole’s defense. Why Daltos is trying to gather his remaining troops is a mystery. Daltos didn’t elaborate, though he hasn’t run into anybody who’s still willing to backstab him. Maybe it’s the eyepatch.

“When’s the funeral?” Arsenal twiddles his thumbs.

“Next week.” Daltos moves Dick’s tail to the side so that it won’t smack into his knee.

Strippin and Benji stride out of the clinic, yelling at Lalnable that that they’ll be back; they’re off to pack up their workshop and sell the place to an aspiring mechanic. Strippin spots Daltos, striding over.

“Hey, can we talk to you later?” Strippin asks. “I’m Strippin, and this is Benji. We heard some talk about a secret project of yours.”

“It ain’t much of a secret anymore thanks to my dead lieutenant’s big mouth, but alright.” Daltos nods. Zylus, Arsenal and him watch Strippin and Benji spawn a technical, taking it along the road that passes the Bloodshot Dam.

“Who else is with us?” Arsenal revives the conversation.

“Hawker, Hurricane, Focke, Wulf, and Siebel.”

“Wow, that’s almost all the Buzzard Boys.” Arsenal laughs. “Except for Dornier, who’s a bit shocked that his bud’s dead.”

“Bud was a real prick.” Daltos sighs. “Klemm and Fieseler are still in. Bucker’s sticking around, and as for Cant? You couldn’t get Cant to budge even if you offered them all the rakk ale on Pandora. Oh! And Heinkel. I found Heinkel hiding in a snowman. They missed everything.”

Arsenal laughs, and so does Zylus. To hear Daltos and Arsenal talk so casually about their bandits is strange, but it’s a strange that Zylus likes. He has a feeling that the two’s feelings about their shared gang runs deep, as deep as Ravs’ soft spots for his favourites.

Daltos withdraws a cardboard tube wrapped in sticky tape. It’s handed to Arsenal. Arsenal peeks into one end, nodding. “Thanks for getting my leg bones back from those Rats!” He despawns it after shutting the lid back on. “Maybe I’ll get this put in a frame and hang it on my wall.”

“You’re fucking welcome, and that’s disgusting,” Daltos replies.

“At least I get a cool trophy out of it.” Arsenal fingerguns at him. He throws a miniature pouch at Daltos. Daltos catches it. “That’s your missing tooth. Picked it up after you well, disappeared.” Daltos has no visible reaction to this, putting away the pouch.

Zylus does remember Daltos walking into a bandit camp, only to emerge ten minutes later with the tube under his arm and his SMG in the other hand. He hadn’t elaborated, simply instructing Zylus to depart immediately. Not prying, Zylus had done just that. It also gave him enough time to think about what could have been in the tube, and armed his stomach for the reveal. It hardly twitches.

Daltos turns to Zylus like he finally remembers that Zylus is there. “You don’t have to stick around while we talk.” Zylus looks down at the ground. “I’m not going anywhere,” Daltos gently adds.

Arsenal raises both eyebrows. “Ooooh, did something happen between you two to make you all mushy and sappy?”

“What happens at the mystery motel stays in the mystery motel,” Daltos firmly says.

“Agreed,” Zylus hastily says. He’s pleased with himself for not blushing or giving anything away (though how effective that’ll be when Ravs is nearby is another question).

This doesn’t wipe the knowing grin off Arsenal’s face. He merely nods, giving Daltos and Zylus an exaggerated series of nods and a thumbs-up. Scowling, Daltos whistles. Arden’s head rises so fast that it smacks into the underside of Arsenal’s chair. Arsenal yelps, almost falling off.

Arden makes a disgruntled ‘whuff’ sound, dropping their head to the ground to continue sleeping. Arsenal rubs his butt with a hand. “Rude!”

“Anyway, I got to drop Zylus off at T-Bone Junction and then meet with Strippin and Benji.” Daltos picks up Dick to gently drop them by Arden. Dick’s fast asleep, legs twitching randomly. “I don’t know what they want from me.”

“Maybe they just want to share some chocolate coins with you?” Arsenal shrugs. “Or some Mite.”

“They can take as many jars as they want, I’m sick of the stuff,” Daltos says. He nods at Zylus, walking off to the Fast Travel Station. A few seconds later, he’s gone. Zylus hopes that he’s not going to get into any trouble.

“What’s that stuff?”

“Mite? Mite’s a bandit-made spread. It’s very salty, looks like a shit stain but it’s delicious.” Arsenal spawns a jar, handing it to Zylus. Zylus hands it back when Arsenal shakes his head, smiling. “Hey, keep it, Daltos wasn’t kidding. Our gang thought delivering sixteen boxes to his bedside table would cheer him up.” Arsenal drops his voice. “It  _ didn’t.” _ He leans back, his voice returning to normal. “But he seems pretty happy when he got back just now with you.”

“I’m not telling you what’s happened at the motel,” Zylus immediately says. Zylus tucks the jar into his inventory. He’d once heard Daltos lamenting about the lack of the stuff in T-Bone Junction.

“Dagnabbit, I was hoping for juicy shit I could gossip about with Minty.” Arsenal pretends to slap his knee. “Anyway, I got to take my nap or Lalnable’s gonna confiscate my photosynthesis sessions out here.” He jangles the leashes. “Come on, go back inside with your daddy– okay, don’t sniff Zylus’ crotch, that’s just rude. I’m sure it smells lovely, but no. Sorry about that, Zylus, sometimes they happen to ‘forget’ their manners like Boner used to.”

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Pyrionflax: Xephos, so glad you could make it.

Xephos: I don’t have a lot of time since Rythian wants me to do some more scouting for him.

Pyrionflax: I’ve made this as secure as possible. Ain’t nobody here but you and me– godfucking dammit, I sound like Minty.

Xephos: That’s not the issue here.

Pyrionflax: You’re right, that’s not the issue here. The issue here’s BebopVox.

Xephos: Did you manage to plant that bug?

Pyrionflax: I tried, but we’re both up against a Dahl military A.I. that managed to outsmart everyone. BebopVox is too good at finding my bugs.

Xephos: BebopVox didn’t outsmart everyone.

Pyrionflax: We’ll figure out later who’s our last line of defense. I’ll keep screening potentials.

Xephos: In the meantime, all we can do is keep an eye on BebopVox.

Pyrionflax: Signs of rampancy aren’t as well documented in A.I.s that are over fifty years old since they’re automatically coded to be self-terminating a lot earlier.

Xephos: See, what I think Dahl did was remove the self-terminating part so they could cut back on cloning costs.

Pyrionflax: I don’t think BebopVox is going to turn on us.

Xephos: So long as nobody fucks over Zylus, that is.

Pyrionflax: BebopVox isn’t evil either? Dude’s a good team player.

Xephos: It’s a little bit strange to be talking about ‘evil’ on Pandora, but you only know BebopVox through games. They could have an ulterior motive that they’re hiding. 

Pyrionflax: I think you’re being too paranoid, but whatever helps you sleep at night. 

Xephos: I don’t want to do this either, but we need to play it safe.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO LOG.  / / –

BebopVox: It appears that there’s still some level of trust issues, even after I helped y’all.

\--

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG.  / / –

KirinDave: Lying, be a dear and turn on that recording Will sent.

Lyinginbedmon: Of course, sir.

Will Strife: Ahem, is this recording? Testing, one, two, three– I can never be sure of these. Alright, I think it’s on. KirinDave, the package that you should have hopefully received with this log contains the final version of my report. While I’ve attempted my very best to get a hold of SipsCo’s dealings with Ridgedog, I’m sorry to say that I’ve failed–

Lyinginbedmon: How disappointing. And you had such high hopes for him, sir.

KirinDave: I don’t think so. Why don’t we keep listening? It looks like there’s more.

Will Strife: Ridgedog has offered to provide a direct line to you. Here’s their ECHO code. They’re available anytime. And Lying, no, I wasn’t paid off by Ridgedog to tell you this. As for my report about investing in Pandora? I recommend it. My report contains further details.

KirinDave: Interesting.

Lyinginbedmon: Your thoughts, sir?

KirinDave: I think I should start reading this report right now instead of working on my paperwork. Lying, can you can schedule a board meeting with my people? Let’s set it for in eight hours.

Lyinginbedmon: Already scheduled, merely waiting on the slackers to check their inboxes. Also,  _ your _ people?

KirinDave: Yes,  _ my _ people. Go on, round up all my executives, chop chop. I think they’d be interested to know about the Vaults too.

Lyinginbedmon: Shall I add a bonus for Will Strife?

KirinDave: By all means! Maybe it’ll even get him to accept our offer of employment at last. And see if Ridgedog can get on our private line. A discussion’s long overdue.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO LOG. / / –

\--

Lalna walks side by side with Rythian, Rythian’s words swirling in his head. “Even after everything, I still consider you my friend.” He didn’t want a hug; he wanted an embrace. Lalna’s hug is brittle, containing his surprise that Rythian hadn’t simply teleported him into the treacherous, corpse-lined gorge by Sanctuary Hole’s repaired bridge.

Maybe Rythian didn’t have the energy to do so, or maybe he’s forgiven him. Lalna  _ feels _ like he shouldn’t be forgiven, least of all, by Rythian. He doesn’t deserve him at all.

“Thank you.” Lalna scrubs at his eyes with his real hand.

“The old me would have just thrown you into the Caustic Caverns,” Rythian remarks. Grinning, he pats Lalna on the back, drawing back. 

Lalna ended up with his face pressed to Rythian’s chest; Rythian smells of dust, a hint of superheated eridium, blood and old books. It’s funny how he didn’t notice all that sooner. Then again, he didn’t notice much to begin with.

The clinic is quieter, thanks to mandatory naptime to stop Daltos and Parvis’ bandits from clashing with one another when visits overlapped. Teep and Panda are having a great time enforcing it. Lalna lets Rythian walk in first.

Teep greets Rythian with a cursory wave of their hand. They ignore Lalna. Lalna musters a feeble, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Panda says for Teep. Panda nudges Teep. “Come on, say hi to Lalna.” Whatever Teep responds with, Panda sighs. “I do  _ not _ sound like Saberial!” Clearly, Teep doesn’t feel the need to share their interactions on the local channel.

Lalna has no idea when or what’ll make Teep stop hating his guts. He has a feeling that knives are involved, and resolves to stay away as far as possible from Teep in the future. Or be in a room alone with them. 

Lalnable taps him on the shoulder. “It’s about time you brought Rythian back, he was overdue for his nap.”

“At least he actually brought him back,” Panda quotes. “That’s what’s Teep just sent me.” They turn to Teep. “Come on, unblock Lalna already.”

Teep just folds their arms over their chest, staring at Lalna. Lalna’s fight or flight response perks up like Arsenal’s twin kraggons knowing that he’s back from the shower.

“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” Lalna reassures Panda, giving an awkward laugh to play it off like it’s no big deal. 

That’s a lie. Teep’s one of Rythian’s closest friends, and their constant loathing hurts Lalna. To be fair, Rythian did warn him earlier that Teep’s not likely to forget any of this in a hurry. He also did mention that it’s Teep’s problem, and Lalna shouldn’t worry too much.

Anyway, Lalna has a set of prosthetics to calibrate and build for a bunch of people, including Zoeya and Minty. Panda’s put in a request for a new leg rather than the clunky, rudimentary pegleg that Lalnable’s provided.

As he walks to the in-house laboratory, Lalna can still feel Teep’s eyes on the back of his head.

On the other side of the clinic, Rythian settles onto the bed that’s been his for weeks. He’s pleased with his own progress. He doubts reaching his peak fitness ever again, not after losing so much blood and having such a close brush with death.

Talking to Lalna’s shimmied loose the place inside Rythian’s chest that the presence inside of him had cracked open, letting it consume him. In secret, it’d been so very cathartic…but never again. Rythian swears that that’s the last time he’ll let himself be controlled like that.

For now, he needs to rest. Rythian’s finishing tucking himself into bed. He has a quiet moment to chuckle; Ravs’ offer to tuck him in is still open. Not today.

A knock alerts him to a visitor. Teep must trust this person to let them knock instead of forcing them to wait until he’s recovered to meet them in the waiting room.

Nanosounds pops in. He hasn’t seen her since the Vault, and her appearance is drastically different to what he remembers. She’s shorn the sides of her hair off, emphasising the sides only buzzcut. Dressed in a suit, Nanosounds smiles at him. Her left arm’s sleeve is tucked back with a safety pin.

She rolls her eyes at seeing him gape at her injury. “Relax already.” A portal opens at her stump. A spikeless tentacle slides out. This one has more prehensile digits, lacking the toxic slime; it even has suckers along the underside. It twists, feeling through the air. Nanosounds closes the portal like attending to a handbag. “See? Don’t worry about me.”

“How?” Rythian whispers, unable to help sounding intrigued. 

“Figured it by accident as I was trying to make coffee.” Nanosounds gives a pleased, smug sort of grin.

“You should sit down. You look like you’re ready to pass out.” Rythian flexes his own ability, dropping a chair next to her. She takes it. “Where’ve you been?”

“Exhausting my Siren powers.” Nanosounds laughs, sheepishly. “Trottimus’ collar was going to burn out, so we had to figure out how to get the rest of the raw eridium out of me.”

“Wait, can you start from the beginning?” Rythian presses a hand to his temple. Yes, something in him faintly stirs, in his memories. It’d felt like he’d been dragged from the depths, kicking and screaming as his lungs burst from the rapid pressure shifts.

“Sure.” Nanosounds sets her hand on her lap, and recites the tale of enduring the Queen’s Vault, beginning with what happened after he’d ascended.

Rythian listens raptly. He has too many reactions to the chain of events following striking Ravs in the face. HIs horror grows until it hits its peak.

Nanosounds pauses, worry filling her face. “You okay? I can stop, if you need a moment.” She’s not uncomfortable, merely concerned.

He’s glad that she doesn’t stoop to pity. “I’m fine.” He wipes his eyes. Junior’s still with Zoeya for now (and he should thank her for taking on impromptu babysitting duties). “Keep going. I need to hear all of it.”

She doesn’t ask him for the second time, trusting his own ability to judge whether or not he can handle the rest of the story. 

When the moment where she consumes the eridium arrives, Rythian chuckles. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” Nanosounds blinks. “The eridium?”

“I tried to pull an experiment back in Lynchwood. It didn’t work, but it was the wrong kind of eridium.”

“I figured that out too.” Nanosounds shrugs. “Whatever it did to me, it took me ages to come down.”

“Where did you end up going?”

“Eridium Blight.” Nanosounds shares a map with him. He figures out how to accept it (nostalgia nipping at him, reminding him of how Lalna had to reteach him how to share his map). “Thank Ridgedog for that suggestion. Nobody lives there anymore except for rakks and bullymongs, so I could wreck it as much as I wanted to.”

“Oh. That place.” Rythian wandered through there once, a long long time ago. It’s a hundred times worse than Vorago Solitude, so polluted and desecrated that he’d had to burn his boots rather than risk the gunk sticking to them burning through the soles to his skin.

“So that’s where I’ve been, aside from talking to Sips.”

“Why are you talking to Sips?” Rythian’s suspicions rise. Teep did tell him that Sips and Sereno are one and the same. He automatically distrusts SipsCo. by association, so his opinion of Sips is fairly low.

“We’re trying to work out a deal right now, but Sjin’s taken care of.” Nanosounds leans in, adding conversationally, “By the way, my mom wants to meet you.”

Rythian shakes his head. “Nooo, she doesn’t.” He couldn’t care less about SipsCo., now that Sjin’s no longer a threat.

Nanosounds pretends to look hurt, her grin foiling her it. “She’d like to meet the person responsible for leading her daughter astray and onto the adventuring path.”

“Oh no, no, no, if I’m not meeting Ravs’ mother, I’m not meeting yours either.”

“What’s wrong with wanting my mom to meet my friends?”

“One, I’m underdressed.” Rythian picks at his shirt. “Well, no, that’s the only reason.” He racks his brain for more reasons, however bullshit. “I’ll get back to you later with other reasons.”

“Mom’s perfectly fine, she won’t judge you for not being dressed as well as I am.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one with a limited wardrobe.”

“Hey, can I see the Vault Key?”

“Huh?” Rythian supposes that there’s no harm in letting her handle it. “Sure.” He teleports it into her hand so he doesn’t have to remove the strap’s knot and redo it later.

It lands on her hand, settling against her palm. As it does so, the line where the two halves of the bone meet flash. Purple spills out. The bone splits, falling apart. Nanosounds gasps as the carvings on the Vault Key start emitting a glow that intensifies. Rythian stares at the Vault Key; it’s never done that before.

It rises until the pointed tip touches Nanosounds’ hand, balancing like a spinning toy top. “Wait, don’t–” Rythian’s alarmed warning doesn’t stop her from touching the Vault Key with a finger. 

The room darkens; how is a mystery, and stars pour out from the Vault Key, filling the room. The stars are a hologram, larger celestial objects unwinding from the Vault Key to take their proper places. Rythian and Nanosounds watch as galaxies unfold, expanding through the walls of the clinic. 

Distant screaming and sounds of shock ensue as the commotion starts. The two pay no attention whatsoever, gazes fixated on the rotating map of the universe before them.

Evidently delighted and not at all terrified, Nanosounds squints at the nearest planet. “What’s all this?”

“These are all vaults,” Rythian observes.

“How do you know?” Nanosounds quizzes. She turns her head, staring at him. 

Rythian’s amused eyes glow like blue suns. “It’s what the stuff in my head’s telling me.” All that ‘stuff’ was the Queen’s final, parting gift. She clearly didn’t want what she’d protected and hoarded to go to waste. Rythian wonders if she’d always planned on giving it to him. Well, he’ll never know. “I always wondered what she meant by ‘Sirens are the key.’”

“Are you telling me that there’s other Vaults to find?” Nanosounds slowly asks him, an adventurous gleam in her eyes. Never had she expected such a boon to drop into her lap out of nowhere.

“Yes.” Rythian smiles for the third time since he woke up. “So it’s a good thing that I’m not the last Vault Hunter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (his journey is almost over. or is it?)
> 
> i’d like to thank polishingopals, endragh, doublearrows, teagstime and siins for making this happen, as always. special shout out to jayson for the bandit farmer’s market!
> 
> we’re nearing the end of this project, but first things first, there’s a few scenes that didn’t make it into this version of the chapter. i rewrote a lot of scenes until i couldn’t rewrite any more. one of the biggest difficulties is that working with such a large au with so many characters is that there’s multiple possibilities for scenes. i did the best i could with what i currently have; if i had more time and energy, i would have loved to include other details. i’m happy with what’s here though. maybe someday, i’ll come back and revise and add things.
> 
> rythian’s at a stage where he’s going to heal. he really wants to heal since he’s so sick of grounding himself in pain and misery. killing the queen didn’t immediately solve all his problems, like what to do with himself now that she’s gone. i’m really proud of him and how far he’s developed, as with all the other characters.
> 
> lalna is also in the same boat as he is. i always imagined his and rythian’s conversation to have happened off-screen. and rythian’s reaction was intentional. it’s a lot less violent than what he’s capable of (because this is pandora, after all). maybe it’s subconscious on his part. who knows?
> 
> will has to deal with the decision he’s made in handing off his report to kirindave. he’s hit the high point of his development, but he’s a lot more comfortable in his own skin compared to how he was many chapters ago. look at all the friends he has!
> 
> and nanosounds; losing her arm was a last minute decision in the previous chapter. there hasn’t been much explored in the canon universe about what happens if sirens lose their left arms. if their powers are channeled through said arm, do they lose their powers? or is there another way to channel it? i hc that it depends on the individual siren, and their power, as is the case for nanosounds. her mother and crew survived sjin’s attempt to kill them, so nanosounds is very happy about that.
> 
> i’d like to ramble more about each of the characters and their arcs, but sadly, i don’t have enough space here for that. the ask box and comments are always open though!
> 
> there’s one more chapter left, which will be the ending cutscene (and if you haven’t seen the opening cutscene, you can check it out [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11355222/chapters/27750399)). after that is the epilogue.
> 
> thank you very much for reading (and doodles are located [here](https://borderlandscast.tumblr.com/tagged/the-last-vault-hunter%3A-chapter-fifteen) by the never-tiring siins).


	16. And The Ship You Rode In On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end(?). there’s a surprising lack of violence in this one, probably the first in a long time!

– / / NOW PLAYING ECHO LOG. / / –

Pandora, the last frontier and devourer of lives. This ends the story of my time on that planet. If you’ve made it this far, thank you. If you just skipped to this last entry, fuck you. If not, completely disregard that last sentence. You can stop listening now.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Really, there’s nothing left. I know you have better things to do with your life than listen to me pointlessly ramble about the distant past.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Oh, nine thousand and ninety-nine rakk bottles on the wall, you take one down and throw it on the ground, nine thousand and ninety-eight rakk bottles left on the wall. Nine thousand and ninety-eight rakk bottles on the wall, you smash one on the bar and stab it into a guy, nine thousand and ninety-seven rakk bottles left on the wall…

  
  
  
  
  
  


More, you say? Knock knock. Who’s there? Nobody’s there. You’re all alone, with just your gun and your last nine bullets for company, you haven’t slept in three days and the world’s full of talking cactuses and humming rocks. That’s actually my favourite knock knock joke.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Even though, in order to truly understand a kraggon’s innermost thoughts, you must  _ be _ the kraggon. That’s easy, kraggons think with their stomachs. Alternatively, just steal a baby one and it’ll think you’re its parent. It’ll follow you around forever. That’s what a retired bandit told me once. I think he was just yanking my leg. Well, considering he only had one leg left, I think that was pretty fair of him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The recipe for rakk ale is a closely guarded secret among bandit clans. There are multiple varieties of rakk ale in existence, each unique and exquisite in taste, texture and must be sampled...only if you like having your stomach being a punching bag to the intoxicating fists of hard alcohol. Contrary to the name, rakk ale isn’t made using rakks. It just happens to smell like week old rakk barf. Dunno who came up with that revelation. Here’s my tip: the stuff’ll get you drunk like nothing else, except for a certain legendary brewer’s fabled moonshine.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Heh, the definition of inflammable is mistaken for ‘fireproof’ more often than you’d think. Learning to stop, drop and roll while firing back will become natural reflex, don’t worry.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Extra, extra, my top five preferences for knives are: Dahl (they stay sharp, even after you’ve cut a hundred things, including yourself), Tediore (they explode on contact, good for distractions or for parties), Anshin (unconventional, but their scapals are good for peeling things), and Maliwan (brittle, will shatter if you hit it hard enough against a rock, but they’re all environmentally biodegradable). Hyperion doesn’t even score in these charts!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


...Alright, you’re still here. This means you probably want to hear any super secret messages I left behind after a twenty minute awkward silence as I wait for you to turn off your ECHO device and go away.

  
  
  
  
  


Well, you’re getting what you came here for. Here’s my secret message.

Attention, if you’re thinking of following in my footsteps until you step on my heels, or because you think it’s cool and want bragging rights, I’m begging you: please don’t. 

It’s the truth. The life of a Vault Hunter isn’t glamorous, and not as exciting as I’ve recorded. It’s life-threatening day in and day out, the pay fucking sucks if you don’t know what you’re doing (frankly, nobody does, in this line of work), and nobody’s there to help you if you fuck up, but. I’ve made enemies, ended up with lifelong friends, killed  _ waaaay _ too many people, and injured a lot more. Sometimes deliberately. Sometimes uncalled for. I’ve also done a number of illegal and morally dubious things that’d have me arrested on Eden-5 in less than a nanosecond.

Though, I’m not on Eden-5. I’m on Pandora. Please stay away from Pandora. It’s not worth potentially getting rabies that’ll make you see things right out of your darkest sexual nightmares until your brain curdles. I’m just passing on what the locals tell me. Do you think you can handle that, day in, day out? I’ll say it one more time just in case you didn’t hear me: stay  _ away _ from Pandora.

Seriously, the  _ entire _ point of this story was to demonstrate why the Vaults are  _ dangerous _ in the wrong hands. In the right hands, however…this brings me to my last point: my story doesn’t end there.

– / / NOW ENDING ECHO LOG. / / –

\--

Imagine a rebel cell moving into the sleeping body of a ship. Recall, as the rebel cell’s ship remembers what touching the sky feels like and escapes its earthen shackles. Watch, as squatters claim the ruins. Laugh, as a former bandit arrives with the land’s deed in his hand. Squatters perish as the bandit escorts workerbots and two foremen. Picture a crust of a town surrounding a crater of a sinkhole taking shape. Witness a faceless freelancer gift a shield core to the bandit. Marvel, as the town gains a life of its own in Three Horns.

Fast forward through time, and watch as the town suffers through a battle that shakes it to its very core and foundations. Smile, as the town picks itself up and carries on, plodding on as usual. Pause and zoom in, on the specks moving along the edge of town.

Along the canyons surrounding Sanctuary Hole, two bandit gangs meet for the second time.

Bandit gangs barreled into warfare when faced with gatherings larger than ten people. Smarter bandits did the math, which usually boiled down to: number of opponents must be less than present crew to ensure victory. Foolproof, until proven otherwise. However, these are not the regular, run of the mill bandit gangs.

One group is clad in navy blue, known as the reigning menaces of the east coast. Daltos’ gang traveled from their main base for the last time. The Blitzkrieg Blighters emerged from near-destruction with cowed ambition, bruised egos and heavy losses to make a hardened Dahl unit leader turn to alcoholism, but the gang still stands, ready to swing at whoever’s about to try kicking them down.

The other gang is marked by dark red, a loose association of bandits bound together by their burning love of deafening parties and unwavering loyalty to their brave leader, Parvis. The Bloody Bandits are silent. Their survivors could barely fill a small stronghold. Yet, they’d still given the opposing gang all manner of hell and lived to tell the tale. Any bandit worth their salt didn’t fuck with people like that.

Daltos and Parvis face one another. Both regard each other with stoic calm. Just for today, there’ll be no fighting.

Daltos’ new eye hardly catches the light, the pupil shaded a dark brown to match his remaining eye. He gazes from Parvis to his gang. With a nod from him, the Blitzkrieg Blighters silently arrange themselves into ordered lines, each headed by their respective unit leader. Those without one fall into place with the closest unit they’d associated with.

Behind Daltos, Arsenal heavily leans on his crutches. His two kraggons behave themselves, acutely sensing the sombre atmosphere and his melancholy. A custom painted gun waits in a holster. The gun bears lightning erupting out of a helmeted skull that streaks up from the grip along the barrel.

Parvis signals, which Kogie and Leo relay. The Bloody Bandits mimic the lines as best as they can despite lacking years of practice. Parvis cradles a lockbox of stamped metal tags to his chest. Sparkles pushes his wheelchair forward.

Each Bandit Lord advances along a row graves, the other doing so in the opposite direction. Neither speak. Words can’t capture the air of respect and deference both gangs exude. Grave diggers stand to attention, shovels at the ready.

As Daltos and Parvis move along the row, the two impart a corresponding tag into a small hole at the end of each grave. Designated gravediggers dutifully fill the patches of dirt in, keeping their heads low. Scraping sounds follow each Bandit Lord’s footsteps, the gravediggers rotating amongst themselves.

At the last grave on his side, Daltos pauses. He spawns a crumpled, navy blue helmet that once belonged to a Marauder. He lays it in the square pit that’d been dug out an hour ago. A set of polished and cleaned digistruct modules join it. 

Grimacing in pain, Arsenal hobbles over. His two kraggons stay behind him, snouts turned up to the air. Arsenal hands the painted gun to Daltos. Daltos leaves it in the grave as well. The two watch as a gravedigger carefully spades dirt in until the items are buried.

Arsenal’s mouth twists as he chews his cheek, like he’s fighting himself. Turning abruptly on his crutches, he hops off to rejoin his unit without spitting on the grave. Not lingering, Daltos retakes his place at the head of his gang a moment later.

Parvis does so as well. His hands form a rock star’s call sign. In unison, his gang mimic him, dropping their gazes. Daltos’ gang does nothing of the sort, using a gesture to convey their respects. They crisply stand to attention, heads held high. The moment of silence peaks, cresting into the sky and along the war wrecked plain. 

There are no names to any of the graves, and any passing bandit will know one of their own rests here, free at last. Strangers will never realise that the bandits here died fighting what they’d believed in. 

As silently as both gangs arrived, the leaders and their followers depart. Neither acknowledge the other. What’d passed between each bandit’s formed a bond that’ll be honoured by their successors.

Minty, Ravs and Hollie watch the funeral from one of Sanctuary Hole’s shield towers. No longer bandits, the three keep their distance. When the bandits disperse, Minty sweeps her hat back onto her head, climbing down the ladder. Ravs and Hollie follow her lead. The three don’t say a word until they’re reunited with the others.

\--

Kirindave sets down Will Strife’s final report on their desk. They rest their chin atop their hands, contemplating the wealth of knowledge that he’d painstakingly compiled. They also marvel at Will’s tenacity, for sticking with a hellish task that others turned down.

In the light of the glassless aquarium, Kirindave’s face is shadowed, concealing their expression. A spearfish weaves through the bioluminescent corals at the bottom of the tank. Watching the fish track its prey beneath the graveled sand, Kirindave rubs their thumb’s nail against their index finger’s underside, deep in thought.

Humming, Lying retrieves the report, filing it back into its protective plastic sleeve. “You have your thinking face on.”

“So that’s how Ridgedog’s going to play.” Kirindave’s eyes flick to the handwritten notes on the information gleamed from the two’s latest conversation. The notes span three pages, question marks and observations filling the margins. Idle doodles crowd the corners.

As usual, Ridgedog played coy. Nobody else bothered to flirt like they did, especially when it came to Kirindave. They’d missed the scheming bastard.

“Your move, sir?” Lying smoothly adjusts the report’s so that it’s no longer creased, tucking it into a filing cabinet.

“We’ve wiped the board clean, and now we pick our pieces.” Kirindave swivels in his chair to face the window. The feed from multiple planets broadcast live images of factories and testing facilities.

“I thought chess would have been more to both your liking,” Lying points out.

“We exhausted chess nearly a decade ago!” Kirindave laughs. “And I’m too rusty to be a challenging opponent,” they sheepishly add.

“You could beg for mercy?” Lying pours coffee into a transparent teacup. The teacup’s exterior promptly adopts a teal hue to match Kirindave’s tie. “Or ask for a handicap.”

“Nobody likes playing with a handicap, and mercy’s only fun when I have something that Ridgedog treasures.” Kirindave sighs. “Let’s just wait for an opening.”

“I’ll let your contacts know that you’ll be in touch soon.” Lying pens an appointment into Kirindave’s diary. “Lunch?”

“Lunch,” Kirindave agrees. “And be incognito with the truffles, or Sue’s going to murder me for eating them without her again.”

“I’ll tell the chef.” Lying secretly adds ‘let Paprika know that Kirindave is eating truffles without her again’ to their notes. “Oh, and the Board is willing to provide a substantial investment in Vault expeditions, if you can promise them that we’ll have results as soon as possible.”

“Excellent!” Kirindave claps. “And, bad news, Will’s not giving back the turret either.”

Lying sighs. “Did you expect that?”

“I did, actually.” Kirindave grins. “It’s not like he’s unaware of why he’s keeping his dealings with us as secret as possible.”

“Very good of you.” Lying snaps the diary shut in one hand. “We’ll have to pay him a visit too.”

“Remind me to bring my best offer to the table, but first, lunch.” Kirindave rises from their office chair. “And we’ll have to set up a meeting with Rythian too.”

“I’ll prepare another offer too.”

“Right you will.”

“It’s what I’m being paid to do.”

“You’re also being paid to not sass me!” Kirindave watches as the spearfish’s teeth munch on the fish it’d ambushed, dragging it into the darker depths of the aquarium to escape its audience.

\--

Strippin and Benji observe the diagram that flickers over the surface of the war room’s table. Ridgedog adjusts the projector. The hologram rises, becoming a transparent, three dimensional structure. Parts of it extend outwards, letting the three examine the internal workings.

Ridgedog turns to Arsenal. Arsenal adjusts his stolen office chair. He hums and pulls out a handheld laser pointer. When a red dot marks the table, one of his kraggons bounds up to curiously snap at the dot. Their tail excitedly sweeps a box of markers onto the floor; the other kraggon immediately starts gobbling up the goods as Arsenal grabs their leashes (too late, he’ll see those markers in two hours).

The laser pointer’s snatched by Strippin. He gleefully points it at the floor as the kraggon on the table dives after it, dragging Arsenal down with them.

Far below, Zylus traverses the frigate’s engines with two of Daltos’ best engineers. Their Elpis accents don’t bother him, nor their rambling chatter on the exquisite state of the engines.

He worries that Dead Worker’s Party can’t handle being handed a town to look after for the rest of their days; but if Dead Worker’s Party can keep a ragtag bunch of bikes running, they can deal with a town, right? He’ll have to leave behind a few Loaders too, to help them. BebopVox can make the hard choice, since BebopVox used them more than Zylus ever did.

Zylus pushes aside his to-do list, continuing his basic survey of the frigate’s engines. His two companions keep ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’, their voices echoing in the closed-in space.

\--

Leaning on a crutch, Parvis strums a test chord on his guitar. The speakers take his chord, amplifying it to the waiting crowd. The crowd screams at him. He screams back, the chord building into the starting riff. Behind him, Kogie, Sparkles and Leo join. When the song falls into an abrupt lull, the crowd reacts with a mix of confusion and surprise; the Bloody Bandits  _ always _ played at full tilt, no exceptions, not even if one of them accidentally fell off the stage.

The spotlights dim, splitting across the stage. Two figures rise from the hidden trapdoors. The spotlights sweep the stage, landing on the two figures. Alsmiffy lets his gauntlets dazzle the crowd, forming an archway of insidious fire that Bluari glides through, on their knees. Tendrils of smoke cling to his form before curling away into the aether.

Bluari ends up on their knees, harmonica pressed to their lips. The melody shatters hearts. The melody rips, rends, teases and twirls through the audience, pulling them into a state of elevated euphoria that only Ravs’ best moonshine could achieve.

No longer stunned or doubting the newcomer, the crowd goes ballistic. Someone throws a fake flower at Bluari. Before it can reach them, Alsmiffy sets it alight. From the single, burnt flower, a full bouquet appears. He snatches it, presenting it to Bluari as Bluari gasps for air. Bluari starts crying at the gift. 

Alsmiffy escorts them offstage as they clutch the bouquet to their chest, harmonica dangling around their neck. The Bloody Bandits onstage seamlessly pick up where Bluari left off.

Trottimus and Ross nod at each other in the mosh pit. Ross seizes Trottimus, the two moving to tear up the dance floor in a saucy mix of tango and foxtrot, both trying to lead. Ross whips off his tie and waves it over his head, lassoing Trottimus with it. Ross’ back hasn’t been sore in weeks.

A little ways away, Xephos and Honeydew crowd surf to the song’s beat.  Xephos tucks their hands underneath their head, letting the flow of the people carry them. Honeydew strikes a pose, sticking his leg up and out.

Xephos’ eyes widen. They mouth ‘someone touched my butt’ at Honeydew. Honeydew laughs it off, switching to a breaststroke. The two of them are too drunk for this, the happiest they’ve ever been (though Honeydew does miss the shovel, a tiny bit; nothing else could bludgeon like it).

\--

In Lalnable’s clinic, Lalnable sips his coffee. The last of the discharge papers await their fate in a thick, overflowing folder on his desk. Next to him, Lalna screws Zoeya’s arm, alternating between power tools and brute strength.

Zoeya whimpers, using her other hand to conceal what he’s doing. Saberial hugs her tight around the shoulders, watching for her. She looks so proud; not once has she let go of her since Lalna began his work.

Lalna taps her arm to let her know that he’s done. Zoeya drops her hand, spreading her new fingers out. She promptly rocket punches a nearby trolley, sending it flying across the floor. It collides with the door, slamming it. Lalna looks far too pleased with himself as one irate Lalnable rounds on him with coffee spilt down his front.

Saberial gapes at Zoeya like she’s just seen the coolest thing ever. Zoeya highfives her, grinning maniacally at her newfound power.

\--

Teep pats their old ship with a hand. Cast long discarded (a day earlier, against Lalnable’s wishes). They climb in, taking a moment to savour their return. 

Zylus refitted the ship back to the way it used to be. Teep adjusts the pilot’s seat, firing up the engines. They have a joyride to make before hitting the black vastness of space.

At cloud level, a second ship joins theirs. Panda waves at them; the two ships cruise as Teep runs the mid-flight calibrations to check on the damage during the suicide mission. They’d been right to pick Zylus. He’d done a perfect job of repairing it, after everything.

From the landing pad, Zylus watches it wistfully, before he’s joined by Daltos. Zylus reaches for his hand, eventually taking it. Zylus touches his forehead with a hand, where the last marker of Dahl service is embedded, perhaps thinking.

He tries to let go of Daltos’ hand, needing to go elsewhere. Daltos hangs on, refusing to let go. Zylus gives him an unimpressed look. Daltos returns a bored one, a hint of a grin beginning to show.

\--

In the resurrected frigate, Arsenal counts down the seconds until the takeoff procedure. Daltos and Zylus run the last of the checks. Ridgedog hides in the A.I. core room. The A.I. core flashes ‘ready’ in code at them. They smile like an adoring, proud parent.

Diagrams, charts, graphs and information flood the monitors on the bridge. Bandits begin to shout at each other, just like they’d practiced, a hundred times over. Arsenal relays critical information to Daltos and Zylus, the two rushing around stations to help panicking bandits and crew.

Everyone (everyone who could make it, that is) watches from the Dahl Headland cliffs. Parvis and Sparkles wince; their hangover’s clobbered their brains something wicked, as with half the people who’d attended Three Horn’s biggest party yet. Honeydew crosses his fingers behind his back. A few people copy him.

Between Pandora and Elpis, the mining rig swivels, matching the coordinates it’d been given up with those on Pandora. It gathers energy from the solar panels spanning its surface, shuttling it towards its centre, preparing to fire. 

The tractor beam strikes the frigate. The ground shakes as the tractor beam starts pulling. The bridge crew confirm the lock, the frigate straining to be lifted as gravity tries to maintain its hold on it. It’s a tug of war.

Within a few tense seconds, the frigate ascends. The bridge crew cheer, stamping, whistling and shouting. Daltos snaps an order; the bridge crew’s enthusiasm isn’t dented by his need to maintain order until the frigate reaches space.

Beside Rythian, Nanosounds’ impatient itch is too much. She rips the restraining collar off her neck, tapping into the last silver of her eridium high she’d been hoarding.

A nest of squirming tentacles envelopes the ground beneath the frigate. On a monitor, a bandit screams and falls off their chair, scrambling away from the feed on all fours. They’ve never forgotten the horrors of that day.

The largest tentacle yet slips along the underside, smaller tentacles giving way to it. Nanosounds drags her robotic arm like she’s performing an uppercut in slow motion, straining. The skin of her left arm begins to peel off, Siren marks burning into the metal and synthetic flesh. People around her begin to back up like she’s about to explode, her tattoos flooding with light.

Arsenal’s kraggons burf at her; Minty hangs onto the leashes she’d been given to stop them from attacking.

With a single toss, the tentacle hurls the frigate up. It breaks free of the mining rig’s tractor beam, hurtling towards space. Bandits and cargo tumble backwards. Alarms flash on consoles and monitors, warning of the sudden atmospheric change.

Arsenal whoops as his chair almost goes vertical, laughing maniacally. Daltos hangs onto the edge of a console, cursing. Zylus claws his way across a console, grabbing a switch before he’s yanked away, slamming into the ceiling. Ridgedog smoothly cartwheels across the ceiling in the other room, gracefully landing on their feet.

The engines stabilise as the frigate starts to drop, tilting downwards to face Pandora. The A.I. adjusts the frigate’s trajectory, preparing for an emergency landing, cutting the engines. They relay a warning to all passengers. At this, nearly everybody pauses, then continues screaming.

The frigate jars. The tractor beam’s locked on again. Bandits and cargo drop from mid-air. Zylus lands on Arsenal’s chair and his lap. Arsenal waggles his eyebrows at Zylus, who pushes off him, blushing. Daltos picks himself up off the floor, grumbling.

Lalna, Pyrionflax and Xephos sigh in relief. The three of them are crammed around a single console, elbows and knees bumping; Pyrionflax dabs at their head with a damp handkerchief. They fist bump Xephos. Xephos nudges Lalna. Lalna grins, twiddling the tractor beam’s controls, concentrating on easing the tractor beam’s intensity.

Bandits, Vault Hunters, mercenaries, lawkeepers and civilians cheer as the frigate remains in space. Arsenal spawns a bottle of champagne. He shakes it, popping the cork. The cork hits Ridgedog in the head as they leave the war room.

They fall over, staying on the ground, eyes closed. Arsenal hobbles over on his crutches. He upends the bottle on Ridgedog’s face. Ridgedog splutters.

\--

In the thriving mining town of Lynchwood, Martyn glances left and right like he’s taking in the town for the last time. He unlatches his sheriff’s badge from his coat; he won’t need it where he’s going. A meaty hand falls over his.

Turpster’s hand curls around his, insisting that he keep it pinned there. Martyn lowers his hand. Turpster hastily withdraws his hand, coughing awkwardly. He mumbles ‘safe travels’ under his breath.

Martyn hands him the key to the sheriff’s office. Turpster stares. At last, he accepts it, tucking it into his own waistcoat’s pocket (next to a folded set of mustached joke glasses).

A few metres separates them before Martyn drops his suitcase, letting it fall to the ground before he races back to hug Turpster. An undignified squawk escapes Turpster; Martyn releases him a few seconds later. Grinning, he turns on his heel, retrieving his suitcase. Citizens wave at their beloved sheriff. Martyn waves back. 

The Toms pile on him as he leaves; he’s only taking two of them with him. The rest have chosen to stay, to try to spread justice as each is deemed ready to become sheriffs of their own.

Pretending to grumble, Turpster tips his hat, keeping it low until Martyn’s vanished down Main Street. Last he heard, Martyn’s accepting a new gig on a frigate bound for the inner worlds. Elora and Trell meet him by the Fast Travel Station; he climbs onto one of their Stingrays.

In the meantime, Turpster’s got two towns to protect, and he’s not going to do the job sitting on his ass while getting drunk all day. A promising lawkeeper like Martyn can’t be trapped in a tiny town like this; he’d destined for greater things.

Daisy is his next student, eager to learn the ways of the law; she’s got a family to support, and a bunch of new civilians from Elpis to protect. Bluari is Minty’s prime candidate; Turpster looks forward to teaching these youngsters.

\--

The frigate remains in stable orbit, cargo bays permanently open and weapons primed if Helios decides to send scouts (highly unlikely, thanks to Ridgedog’s intervention). 

Saberial ferries people and supplies back and forth in her ship. Maneuvering the frigate to land planetside and take off is tricky. Daltos, Zylus and Arsenal would prefer to avoid that unless it’s an emergency.

The three convene in the war room to talk about plotting courses and assigning shifts and staff to all the open posts. Daltos introduces the lieutenants who’d chosen to follow him onto the frigate. Zylus meets Hawker, Hurricane (apparently, the two hadn’t forgotten him from their time as Dahl’s wardens), Focke, Wulf, Siebel, Blohm and Voss. The lieutenants whisper amongst themselves, shooting Daltos knowing smirks and grins. He pointedly ignores them, steering the conversation back to the original topic.

He explains that the others chose to stay behind, to form the Blitzkrieg Blighter’s legacy as the rulers of the east coast. There’ll be challengers, but Daltos believes that Cant can handle themself, as with Dornier, Klemm, Fieseler and Bucker.

Underneath the table, Arsenal stealthily unclips Arden and Dick from their crutch leashes to see what sort of chaos the two kraggons will inflict on Daltos this time.

From a porthole on the bridge, Lalna watches as Hyperion ships surround the mining rig, disassembling it like spiderants stripping a roadside carcass clean. Aboard Helios, Nanosounds’ arm is undergoing regeneration, monitored by Ridgedog. He’s still not sure if he can trust Ridgedog, though he supposes that he has no choice in the matter now.

Beside him, Nanosounds wipes her brow, exiting the ECHO call. She’d successfully persuaded her Mother to cancel her visit; Flux Inc’s current investments are safe and stable on Pandora.

Next to the door, Will Strife keeps swiping on his dating profile. Parvis stickybeaks, offering a bombardment of unsolicited advice on how to improve his chances. Red-faced, Will Strife nearly drops his ECHO device, fending him off.

Behind the two, Sparkles, Kogie and Leo hide Parvis’ room card behind a console. The three sneak off to claim rooms without him. Sparkles pauses to hand FyreUK the band’s new mixtape. BruteAlmighty and IFirez grin; the two are here to seek new opportunities, hoping to spread their radio station beyond Pandora’s airwaves.

A few levels below, Lalnable surveys his new office. He’ll be sharing it with Hollie and Berym. Berym’s napping upstairs. Hollie’s unpacking in her room, trying to make it comfortable for Minty as well.

A few bandits who’re interested in becoming medical assistants wait for his approval. They’d spent hours reconstructing the medical bay, removing all traces of bandit presence to meet Lalnable’s demanding specifications.

Lalnable runs a hand over a random bench, rubbing his thumb and finger together. The bandits hold their breath. He eventually nods. The bandits emit a sigh of relief; they won’t get into trouble with Arsenal either, if Lalnable approves.

Past the medical bay, Ravs unloads his stock of booze from storage units. Daltos converted one of the side rooms to a bar. Ravs took possession of it the second Daltos offered it to him. Heinkel, his former lieutenant, hums a catchy ditty as they stack bottles onto the shelves. Of course a bandit owned frigate would include a bar; no stronghold would be complete without a watering hole.

Nilesy wheels another storage unit over on a hover trolley; he nervously grins at Heinkel, who doesn’t appear to mind him. Heinkel pats him on the head before returning to their job of splitting up rakk ale and moonshine. 

Leaving the storage unit by Ravs, Nilesy makes a mug of hot chocolate. He brings it to Lomadia. Lomadia accepts it, staring at Pandora. Her rakk chose to stay behind, to form a flock of its own. She’ll never forget Mister Owl; though Mister Owl did leave her a miniature egg. The mottled, palm-sized egg is carefully wrapped in one of her bandannas, tucked beside a heating module. There’s bets running on when it’ll hatch, and Lomadia’s promised to let Zoeya know when it starts cracking.

Walking past, Martyn and Minty play rock, paper, scissors to see who gets the office with the nicest view. Martyn discreetly checks what time it is in Lynchwood in his HUD. Minty smacks him in the arm to get his attention. He winces; Minty’s upgraded arm packs a solid punch. 

The two walk in, staring at Sherlock. Sherlock’s claimed the best view. He’s already got his paperweights (a set of limited edition twenty sided dice) in place. He stares, wide-eyed, at Martyn and Minty, who shoot each other a look.

Unbeknownst to Minty and Martyn, Teep and Panda dock in one of the cargo bays, parking their ships next to each other. The two head up to the bridge; Panda slurps up noodles from a bowl, nimbly dodging foot traffic. Teep drops off a pet carrier at the bar for Nilesy.

Nilesy unlocks it. A diamond kitten mewls at Nilesy, who immediately bursts into tears. He freezes when another meow behind the first kitten sounds. Several other kittens emerge from the carrier. His arms full of kittens, Nilesy turns to thank Teep, Teep’s vanished. Panda hasn’t, so Nilesy bestows all his gushing thanks on Panda instead.

Taking a break from packing, Saberial and Zoeya spot the kittens and immediately are upon them, cooing and petting the kittens. A kitten gnaws on the corner of Zoeya’s almanac. Zoeya lets it; maybe her editor won’t mind the puny bite marks.

Trottimus, Alsmiffy and Ross use Trottimus’ surveyors to stack a triple bunk bed. The two let Trottimus choose which one he wants. After a moment, he shakes his head, instructing his surveyors to make a bed that’ll fit the three of them. Ross tackle hugs Trottimus to the floor; Alsmiffy points and laughs, though he abruptly stops when Ross’ hand shoots out to drag him down as well.

Next door, Honeydew bangs on the wall with a fist at the neighbours’ ruckus. He climbs off the bed, fixing the sheets he’d mussed up. 

At their desk, Xephos adjusts their monitor, plugging in their keyboard. From their secret hiding place on the frigate, Pyrionflax’s sent surveillance images of Sjin checking into hospital with Sips by his side. Glancing over their shoulder to make sure Honeydew’s busy, Xephos hides the files.

As Benji and Strippin charge their workerbots, the two poring over Zylus’ old textbooks and notes about the frigate’s engines. The two scratch their heads; Strippin rubs his forehead in frustration as an equation eludes him. Benji pats him on the shoulder, handing him another worksheet from their new course.

FyreUK tests the announcement system by calling everyone to the bridge.

In his new room, Rythian sets his own notes and thesis aside. The discarded bubble wrap pops under Junior’s claws. At least Junior’s having fun with the stuff. The mysterious sender didn’t think to include any identifying details, aside from the Hyperion logo emblazoned on the cardboard box. Rythian traces the Vault’s coordinates with a finger. He tucks the thesis and notes into his inventory, where they’ll be safest.

He makes his way to the bridge. Rythian takes in all the friendly faces grinning at him. Junior floats by his shoulder.

“Where would you like to go?” Zylus asks him.

Rythian smiles. The entire galaxy awaits him and his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the end.)
> 
> this has been the epilogue, ending cutscene and the closing chapter of ‘tlvh’ in one. i’d like to dearly thank siins, who’s had a longtime hand in this story, and for crafting what have been the most incredible artworks to accompany the writing.
> 
> i’d also like to extend my deepest thanks to teagstime, doublearrows, polishingarrows and endragh, and to every single one of you who’ve stuck by this story.
> 
> the spaces in rythian’s echo logs are deliberate, by the way! the two ending songs are ‘dear fellow traveler’ by sea wolf and ‘i’m good’ by the mowgli’s.
> 
> i have a few surprises in store: the first is that i have one last ‘btb’ that’s set shortly after ‘tlvh’. it’ll go into what most of the characters get up to, now that the majority have left pandora. consider it as loosely canon, like the ‘holiday love’ short.
> 
> the second surprise is covered elsewhere.
> 
> i’ll keep this short: thank you again. stay tuned for the last story. the last doodle will pop up in the usual place whenever that’s done.


End file.
